If we had coffee…

sweet morning liquid-of-life

A little while ago I stumbled upon this blog post.

It resonated with me because it’s precisely how blog reading feels/is to me. I read blogs in the morning with my coffee *before* the zaniness of my day begins.

I also liked the concept because my favorite blogs to *read* are written in that manner.

As if we were just two friends getting together and chatting over coffee.

Ive got lots rolling around in my cranium today and really–if I could–I might not blog at all.

Id just invite you over for a cup.

Id share Im feeling sad & make you listen to a story.

Id tell you how, when I was a trainer, I had a multimillionaire client who led a fear based life. He was terribly frugal because he feared he’d never have an idea as great as his first. He worried if he lost his wealth he’d never re-create it. Im not that man. When people appropriate my ideas I think AWESOME. MUST HAVE BEEN A GOOD ONE! I HAVE MORE! but then Id reveal how seeing “friends” appropriate my ideas has made me sad.

Phil Spector specs.

Then Id grow excited and share how I saw something which increased my faith in humanity & resilience.

Id tell you I was feeling the sad of the above when I saw a woman walking her dog. More aptly put she was helping her dog to walk.

Meet Barkly!

I asked if she’d share the dog’s story & she told me this: Barkly has a disease like Multiple Sclerosis and about six months to live. Right now he’s pain-free so we walk daily. I was amazed by the dog’s joy (I was repeatedly face-licked) & resiliency (the cart was new) *and* by his human’s capacity for kindness. The interaction made me grateful Id slowed, stopped and asked.

Id sit for a moment, absentmindedly twirl my hair and shout: OH! I forgot to tell you…

Recently Id noticed the Tornado’s hair looked nice yet different. I complimented her (to my delight she said THANK YOU!) and asked: Did you cut some bangs?! True to age seven she initially denied the hair cutting. True to being a misfit-mama I laughed & told her Id been 7 once, it was fine, & next time Id happily bring her to a salon. Id tell you about our mother/daughter group at school & how it’s a reminder things are *so* different now than when I was 7 and yet simultaneously entirely the same.

when I was young I did this too!

Id ask how things were with your family & Id share how the longer Im married the more Im realizing it’s just like fitness.

Id talk about weight-loss maintenance & say how, for me, it’s just recommitting to healthy living each morning no matter how the prior day went.  I say Ive realized marriage is the same.  Id yammer about how no one talks candidly about the time and work required *daily* to maintain a healthy union.  How (like weight-loss maintaining) marriage maintenance isnt “sexy” so few people are honest about the effort required.   Id mumble about blogging this, but trail off  knowing Id likely not.

Sadly, at this point our cups would be empty and life would beg to intrude on our time.

We’d separate promising it wouldnt be as long between our coffee talks—yet both of us knowing, as promises were made, it probably would be.

 If we could have a slice of silence, coffee and over-share today—what would you tell me?

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If we had coffee…

ahh sweet sweet morning java.

A little while ago I stumbled upon this blog post.

It resonated with me because it’s precisely how blog reading feels/is to me.  I read blogs in the morning with my coffee *before* the zaniness of my day begins.

I also liked the concept because my favorite blogs to *read* are written in that manner.  

As if we were just two friends getting together and chatting over coffee.

Ive got lots rolling around in my cranium today and really–if I could–I might not blog at all.

Id just invite you over for a cup.

Id tell you Im kind of terrified for the summer.  We’ve found our Oakland groove.  A few after school activities, a smattering of play dates, & the Tornado still surrenders to some mommy & me time.  It’s perfect.  And, in almost exactly a month, this new-perfect ends and summer begins.  Back in Austin Id know precisely how it would unfold.  Here? In Oakland? If we could meet for a latte Id tell you Im kind of terrified for the summer.

Id share with you how Id hoped this post would give me an epiphany.  Id overshare & ramble about how Im not sure what direction Im headed next.  Id badger you about whether you thought it’s time to shed my MizFit moniker.  Id repeatedly, annoyingly bring up how Im forty-three and ten months old and Im not sure where I want to weave my words anymore.  How Im ready to leap and make changes before 50 (!) — but uncertain where to begin.

Id smile in remembrance & share a Tornado story.   Id yammer about how she & her dad took a trip, had fun, sang songs and exhausted themselves.  Id laugh about how they inexplicably sang—at a random tour guide’s behest—rounds & rounds of You Are My Sunshine.  I’d stop, smile and tell you about how that night, as she couldn’t fall asleep, she told him:

Dada my skies are gray.  Mama is my sunshine.

Id tell you about a book Id just read & how it caused me to stop, think and *really* see the people around me.  Id ask you if you ever pondered things like that.  Id implore you to read it too so we could discuss.  Id giggle & tell you how I LONGED to start an early morning walking book club in my new neighborhood but I wasnt certain they were ready for Morning Me yet.  I’d grab my iphone and make you tell me all your favorite books and write done the ones Ive not read.

Id horrify you with my abundant knowledge of all the trashtastic shows on BRAVO.   Id yammer about Kroy, Bravo Andy, Patti Stanger, Josh Altman et al until youd wonder if I realized they werent really my friends.   Id beg you to DVR them and claim to only ever ever watch the stuff while I did cardio.

Id grow serious and share how the Tornado cried the other night as I held her.  How she said it was hard & she felt like she wasnt ten but wasnt four.  Id tell you how Id told her I understood.  I feel like Im not twenty—-but Im not 43 and eight months either.  Id tell you how she sobbed and said she didnt know what she was and I told her it’s ok.  Sometimes we dont know exactly what we are or how we feel and it’s ok.  Big people feel like that sometimes, too.

And then we’d both look at our watches and realize we needed to go.  Our to-do lists summoned and coffee time was over.

sad face.

We wouldnt mind, however, because we’d know we’d be here again. 

Tomorrow. 

Sharing stories and drinking coffee.

If we had coffee—-what would you tell me?

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Moaning For Coffee

He took me out to dinner. The food was tasty ‘n stuff. I almost caught a food coma. And then I moaned for coffee…

.

My favorite coffees in order of stupendousness:

1) Jablum Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee: Hallerluyaaaaa! If you’ve never had Blue Mountain coffee shipped to you straight from the Island of Jamaica, put it on your short term bucket list. Your coffee life is not complete until you’ve sipped on this stuff. Absolutely top of the line, my friends.

2) Green Mountain Breakfast Blend K-Cups: This is my everyday go-to coffee, but don’t buy it at the grocery store. The best K-cups deal I’ve seen is on Staples.com: Box of 24 K-cups for $12.99 and free shipping with minimum order. Say what!?

3) Cracker Barrel Coffee: Not too shabby for restaurant chain coffee; the only restaurant coffee I look forward to slurping on.

4) Gevalia Gourmet Coffee: It’s been available online for a long time, but just recently hit grocery stores. Have you seen it yet? It goes down pretty smooth. I force the husband to make it for me on occasion. He bitches about it sometimes, but I just say to him, “Dammit, husband! Serving me coffee is part of your spousal job description, so quit all that complaining and get to it!” And then he quickly brings me a hot cup of the good stuff and rubs my feet and tells me I’m beautiful.

Keurig K-Cup Reusable Coffee Filter

If you own a Keurig and your favorite coffee isn’t sold in K-cup form, then get yourself the Keurig K-Cup Reusable Coffee Filter. It’s a cheap adapter that you only have to buy one time. It makes any brand of non-K-cup coffee ready for the Keurig. You will be invincible if you own one. And ya, I do own one.

Alright folks, please allow me to get back to my coffee moaning. It’s imperative that my annoying moans continue until the Husband gets up to serve me caffeine.

Oh, and pop on over to Like my Facebook page and see my new cover photo. That photo is a sneak peek into some new and exciting visual fanciness coming to the blog! xo 

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I’ve become a coffee shop whore

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Actually, I’ve become a coffee shop john if we’re going to make the prostitution analogy correctly. I’m the one paying, after all. I’ve been freelancing full-time for 21 months now. (And I’m still not broke! I know, I’m as shocked as you are.) As nice as it is to sleep late, take vacation days without need of approval, and to crash on the couch in the afternoon if my headache has my brain in a headlock, it can get lonely if you let it. Hypothetically, if I had enough groceries I could stay in my apartment for days, if not weeks, at a time. That’s great if there is a nuclear incident in my vicinity. All I’d have to do is duct tape the windows closed to protect myself from stray neutrons. But it can also get rather claustrophobic and boring no matter how many movies I can watch on Netflix streaming.

Lately I’ve been going to coffee shops to work. A lot. Like, way more than I ever did in the first 16-18 months of working for myself. I’m going so often that my backpack smells like coffee grinds. There’s something about getting out of the house and being among people that helps me focus on work and stops me from crocheting cat sweaters in my pajamas. And this town—oh, man—this town has a lot of coffee shops. They’ve got at least three custom roasters within a 10-mile radius, maybe more. It’s much easier to find a place to loiter all day in Chapel Hill than it ever was in Indianapolis.

As a result, I’ve become a wellspring of highly specialized coffee shop knowledge. I know who serves the cheapest cup of decaf and who makes the prettiest leaf designs in a latte. I know who charges for Internet access and how to tether my phone to my computer to circumvent that and make the best of my limitless data plan. I know the password for the network at one place and I know that the wine shop across the street has faster wi-fi that’s free. I know which place doesn’t have wi-fi. (So, so freakish.) I know to keep a pack of gum in my purse to get rid of that coffee aftertaste on my tongue. I know who closes at 6:30pm and who closes at 9:30pm. I know not to go to one place between 1:00pm-4:00pm on weekdays because all the seats near electric sockets will be full. I know not to go to another place, ever, because all the hippies hog the seats all day. I know which place is the quietest and which one is more of a meeting place. I know which place serves sandwiches and that they shut down the kitchen at 2:00pm. I know who serves coffee in paper cups instead of a much nicer mug when you order it “for here.” I hate that the place with the coconut flavored decaf is so far away. I know which place has tables at the best ergonomic height and which one’s tables cause me to slouch and aggravate my headache after two hours. I know which tables are wobbly and how many napkins to stick under one leg to steady them. I know that one place gets awful afternoon sunlight glare, so I should only go there on rainy days. I know to bring a jacket to the place that has the air conditioning ramped up to the icicle setting.

So, yeah. I know WAY too much about the coffee shops in this town.

Hanging out at these places has also let me overhear strange conversations and see some…interesting people. Last week I went to read at the place with the cushiest chairs, but someone else had gotten there first. To nap. And snore. LOUDLY. I couldn’t even drown it out with my MP3 player and headphones (which are part of my Essential Coffee Shop Accessories Kit®, along with a computer mouse and a small screwdriver set). The very next day at a totally different coffee shop, a totally different guy was sleeping at the table next to me, snoring, though not as loudly as the first guy.

Obviously the baristas have switched everything out with decaf.

It’s also strange how many serious conversations you can overhear at these places. A father and daughter were sitting at table next to me talking about her sports injury and had a rather tense conversation about his concerns for her health and athletic future. A woman who I think was a professor had a conversation with someone asking if they’d speak on her behalf against some sort of formal complaint. Yesterday someone used the word “anonymize” in conversation which I’m not sure is a real word or not. Different dictionaries seem to have different opinions on this.

And of course, there’s always the customer who bitches about the price of coffee.

I’ve left places because the person next to me had the worst case of body odor ever. I’ve left because someone kept sneezing and hacking, and ever since I saw that episode of Mythbusters I know that the germs go EVERYWHERE. I’ve left because two boys were dicking around on the Internet for HOURS and giggling every minute, putting any school girl to shame.

There are also the people with weird hats, cool shoes, and the occasional person with very short arms, probably due to a genetic issue, who I tried very hard not to stare at but felt guilty for glancing at twice.

Anyway, it’s interesting being part of this coffee shop culture. It’s fluid and ever changing, like a river made of people and their quirks. Perhaps some of the baristas or other regulars have noticed me as that girl who’s always working on her laptop. I hope they don’t mind that I’m seeing other coffee shops. I thought about putting a sticker on my laptop from one place, but thought that might seem rude to the other coffee shops, like coming home with lipstick on my collar.

I should probably get back to work now and maybe get a refill (only $0.87) because, of course, I’m writing this from a coffee shop.

"Smart, unflinchingly honest, and laugh-out-loud funny."– Lisa Genova, New York Times bestselling author of Still Alice

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