daytime coffee break

I am getting a during-the-week, during-the-day, kid-free break. I pack up everything known to man and head to my local coffee-shop: Caribou. It’s as funky of a coffee shop I can find in my suburbian hood. Sure I wish for the something more quirky: off street sidewalk seating, a kind of energy with some funk to it, maybe somewhat of a diverse scene, let’s throw in an occasional dread-locked passerby, or a barista who not only knows my name, but my coffee order as well; now we’re talking. You get the idea. Even a couple of those things would put a skip in my step. This Caribou, and me, happen to live in the same suburb. And we can get along. And today when I happened upon a couple hour break, this is where I am giving it a go.

I take in the scene and get settled near the fireplace. (ok, a corporate approved unlit gas fireplace) Not bitter. Close sometimes. But not.

I am struck by the man-and-wife-readers in side-by-side chairs. No conversation had, just being together reading and sipping comfortably.

With one ear to the job interview going on behind me – and some attention to a DIY article – I catch some of the sales gig where, “your sure to make 20K per month once you have 50 accounts under your belt…” I think ut-oh on behalf of the poor interviewee. I want to say:  Run. Don’t just walk. Run. And isn’t this a great line: “are you at a place in your life where you could use some more income?” Ahhh, Yes. This keen attention to my surroundings continues…..

A to-die-for baby comes in. Mom literally sets the baby in a wooden high chair and props her face on the table. I am in awe – and mention that. Mom comments that she sleeps all the time. She is a perfect baby. Wow.

The book-reader-wife perks up at the sight of the baby. We exchange that baby-is-to-die-for look and I then ask for photo permission from both. I exclaim that I am not a freak and they appear to believe me. “So, what are you then?” book-reader-wife asks. Ahhh, good question I say. I tell her I like to connect to what’s around me, that I’m trying to write more, and blog.

Her face lights up and she says something about having a passion for art, I gesture for her to come sit at my table. She comes and sits with me and shares her love for art and and creative writing. What a treat. I take in her story. How she volunteers at a school every week and is teaching children to really take in what they see in what’s around them.

She grabs her book reads a section to me. http://www.stonesintoschools.com/

What a gift. My own personal book reader. I would pay for this kind of interaction. We both shared the visuals we saw in just such a short passage of this book.

I want to take some notes, as I open my journal sample of Mr. c’s artwork falls out on the table. Her eyes widen as she focuses on this two year old’s hard work. She comments on his use of lines. How he covered the whole page. Used so many different colors. How he overlapped lines. There are angles. There are curves. How he pressed so hard at times, lighter at others. Felt like my own little professional children’s art observer consultation. I just love getting to hear what she sees.

No dreadlocks. No t-shirt noting a cause anyone is fighting for. The individuality of this roomful doesn’t come screaming out at me at first glance. And I could miss it if I don’t pay attention.  And we all know – even me as the big girl that I am – that it’s what on the ‘inside that counts’. Liking some of the creative bend of the city-dwellers, I just do. As for passion – it just might look different (or – maybe more like the same) here in the suburbs. And it’s just where I happen to live.

In this case I encountered upon this interaction with this beautiful woman at my local Caribou. (also need to mention: she is  sporting a short cute blond cut and a hint of funk with her reuseable lime green coffee sleeve) With her individual passion, she drives into the city and volunteers each week connecting kids to art. From having them observe the lines of a tree, to writing stories based on various pieces of artwork. She is full of life and it comes straight through her.

Thanks Ann for this gift of connection. Hope to run into you again.