OoopsieDaisies's Open Salon Blog

Coffee Love

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 11:12:47 -0500

...and so we have our little dates at the coffee shop and dinner as well. And I'm like a schoolgirl in love.

My Coffee Shop Man and I.

Did I say I was like a schoolgirl in love? mmmmm love........

Silver Moons and paper chains,

Faded maps and shiny things.

You're my favorite one-man show.

A million different ways to go.

Will you fly me away?

Take me away with you,

My love.

Painted scenes, I'm up all night.

Slaying monsters, flying kites.

Speak to me in foreign tongues.

Share your secrets one by one.

Will you fly me away?

Take me away with you,

My love.

Now I cant think what life was like

Before I had you by my side.

Cant say what I'd do without you,

Knowing what its like to have you.

Hidden walk ways back in time.

Endless stories, lovers cry.

In my mind I've been set free.

Will you take this Journey

You and Me?

Will you Fly me away?

Take me away with you,

My love.

Fly me away with you,

My Love.

Take me away with you,

My Love.

Fresh Coffee

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 20:11:31 -0500

It felt good to be back at the coffee shop today. I’d been away too long. One of the many good things about going away – other than the simple joy of coming home – is that it always offers the chance for a fresh perspective when I return.

My Coffee Shop Man appeared this afternoon. [Insert long, desirous sigh here.] He seemed a bit more handsome, somehow taller, his smile sweeter. I caught his eye once or twice while he waited for his coffee but not so much that I seemed to be staring. I hope.

There’s an art to sneaking glances, timing is important because you’re always in danger of being caught. I try to appear absorbed in my book/laptop/thoughts but actually I’m waiting for the moment when I see, out of the periphery, that he’s taking a drink of his coffee or picking up his book and then I cast a brief look. He caught me once; I lingered too long admiring the curve of his jaw, then studying the size of his hand wondering how comfortably mine might fit within it. Usually, when I’m spotted as a gawker I’m casual with the smile and the look away – casual enough so as not to look guilty. But he locked on me while in full-blown stare mode and I was helpless to do anything but blush and quickly avert my eyes, hoping somehow to disappear. I’m almost certain he smiled.

But today I simply cast a glance and nod hello. He sat at his table and read his book while I sipped my tea and neglected my book altogether. It didn’t take long before I was completely lost in thought. Daydreaming.

I began to feel the odd sensation that someone was watching me, and looked up to find him - THE him - smiling at me as he stood up and walked over to my table. “Excuse me, “ he said, “do we know each other?”

I tried my best to look up at him without being overly bewildered. “I’m sorry?” [Insert crazy fast, giddy heartbeat here!]

“Well, I notice you’re in here quite a bit and so it seems that we should know one another.”

I found myself quickly moving my belongings to one side of the table and pushing a chair out with my foot, “I agree. It seems we should know one another.”

~~~~~

We talked and laughed for nearly an hour about our lives and how we came to visit our little coffee shop so often. It felt in my heart like stolen time, taken from the world selfishly, and held only for the two of us. He was clever, witty, and engaging - everything I hoped he would be. Adorable. We agreed to meet again and spend more time chatting.

Then he was off to chase his day. He left me with a smile. And a fresh perspective.

[When no one is looking, insert happy dance here.]

Fridays iCoffee Shop

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 15:10:22 -0400

The coffee shop was busy Friday afternoon. There were quite a few teenagers milling about laughing, talking, iPoding, iPhoning, iTexting. (If they’re all there together, who are they calling and texting?)

It’s always interesting to see how they interact after all these years of not being one or having them closely around. These particular kids go to a local private school up the road. Their uniforms are simple; probably meant to be neat and well-kept but they each manage to put their individual stamp of ‘teenness’ on how they dress – the boys have their shirts half tucked and their pants oversized but still belted on their waist, the girls have their cute little skirts with socks pushed down into Converses decorated with hand drawn flowers or peace signs. I don’t think they necessarily start out this way in the morning, I wonder how long it takes for this transformation during the day? Or is this the only day of the week they are allowed this license?

Fridays seem to be their favored day for gathering here; perhaps it’s a stepping off point for the evening activities.

When I was their age my friends and I busted out of school on Friday afternoons, piled into whomever’s car was handy and headed straight for the burger joint on St. Lamont Street. The shakes there were the best in town – just thick enough but not so thick you had to cross your eyes to get the yumminess up through the straw. My favorite was banana; I always asked for an extra cherry on top. (You never know who you might want to give that cherry to.)

My girlfriends and I would sit for what seemed like hours gossiping and giggling over burgers and fries. We actually had to – gasp! – talk to one another. There wasn’t any texting of messages and the closest we could get to an instant message was a hand scrawled note passed from one friend to another, then handed off to the intended guy, and you crossed your fingers and hoped it got there without someone else reading it and blabbing what it said to everyone you knew. And if we liked a guy we didn’t send him half-naked pictures of ourselves as I hear the girls these days seem to be doing a lot of. (Whoever told them that was a good idea should be horsewhipped.) We waited for him to ask us out, and even though we were dying to say, “yes, yes, yes!” we made him wait, discussed it with all our girlfriends, gave great thought to what we might wear on this date, finally agreed to go out with him, and made him pick us up at home for a real date. You know, some place public where everyone could see we were together, like a football game or the burger joint on St. Lamont Street.

Of course, if you happened to become half naked later on in that date that was an entirely different story…

First Serve

Wed, 7 Oct 2009 13:10:38 -0400

Today was a dreary, drizzly day in my part of the country. The kind of day made for enjoying a hot cup of tea and a good book. As I sat in the coffee shop at my little table I tried to enjoy both, but I was too distracted by the many thoughts rumbling about in my head to concentrate. Love in the Time of Cholera would have to wait for another day; for now, Earl Grey was the best company for my head.***

The coffee shop was empty except for me and the two employees on duty. Their casual chatter was thin but chipper as they cleaned and stocked, bustling about in effort to keep themselves busy until things picked up. I watched them in their dance for a while and wondered if they really enjoyed their jobs or if it was simply something they did to pick up a few bucks - it certainly couldn't pay that much to work there. They were young, and this seemed to be a good 'get from here to there' kind of job. I think I probably would have liked it when I was their age. When the joint is jumping, it's truly jumping and interaction with the customers is key to keeping the clientele coming back again and again. Well, that and a great cup of coffee (or tea) of course. But these kids are terrific at what they do on all counts so I'd say they really enjoy it. They earn their money, that's for sure, even if it's not much.

Watching them reminded me of one of my first jobs out of high school. I was young, bright, and adventurous; the world was waiting for me to take it by storm!

So I took a job waiting tables at local truck stop.

That's right - a truck stop. Not exactly taking the world by a storm, was it? And not necessarily a terrific first choice if you've never waited tables and you're 18, but if you're a quick learner and don't mind an occasional pat on the backside it's not so bad. I loved it. The pay was horrible but I didn’t care. I knew how to make great tips - even if my waitressing skills might have been lacking here and there, I learned quickly that a smile and a wink went a long way. And if there was one thing I could do well it was flirt. Service with a smile…or a shimmy.

In truth, waitressing at that little truck stop was a perfect first job for me. It became more than simply a means to earn a few dollars and flirt all day. I learned what it was to work hard – and believe me, waiting tables is damn hard work. I went home with a nicely padded pocket from the tips I’d earned but I also went home with throbbing feet, an aching back, and plenty of times I burned myself on hot plates or coffee pots. I learned to listen, to organize myself, and to think on my feet while working a few steps ahead of where I am and what I’m doing at the moment.

The most important thing I learned there was this: I thrive on caring for other people and seeing that they’re comfortable. Making my customers feel special and fawning over them wasn’t simply flirting – well, not all the time anyway – I wanted them to be comfortable and happy while they were there. By its nature, a truck stop is regularly filled with road weary, worn travelers, tired and far from home. They needed more than just the daily special, they needed a kind word and a smile. I was more than happy to share. The travels of their day could have taken them anywhere but somehow they found their way to a one of my tables, and so they were my guests. Some came back time and gain, some I never saw again, but it mattered to me that, either way, they left knowing I was glad to see them arrive and sorry to see them go - you can't order that off any menu.

***Corrected, thank you Cartouche!

Sitting at the coffee shop today...

Fri, 2 Oct 2009 16:10:10 -0400

So I'm sitting at the coffee shop today wondering how many other people come here for the same reasons I do. I don't drink coffee; the aroma is lovely, but I prefer tea. The truth is, I come here so I don't have to be completely alone. Going home means the stillness of only myself. Being at the coffee shop I can sit at my table and read or write, drink my tea, and all the while be surrounded by the comfort of the sights and sounds of other people.

I guess that sounds a little sad, maybe a little self-pitiful. I don't mean it to sound that way. I just enjoy the comfort of the busyness of people coming and going. Being alone isn't something I have ever enjoyed. Silence is not my friend.

When I'm home I must have constant noise. The television. A radio. The stereo. When I had family in the house it was wonderful; always a guarantee of comings and goings, chatter and noise of one kind or another. The coffee shop is more or less white noise to me. The clink of a coffee cup, whoosh of a cappacino machine, shuffle of feet, chairs being scraped or knocked about, or the murmur of a conversation. It's a sense of peace for me. I would stay here for hours if I could.

Of course, there is something else I enjoy. People watching. I come here about the same time every afternoon and now that I've been doing this for a while I notice some of the same people coming in on a regular basis, keeping a routine, making the coffee shop a part of their life. Some people catch my interest more than others, like the older gentleman who comes in with his wife every afternoon. She seems to be a little ill and I wonder if this is their regular daily excursion, designed for them both to get a little fresh air and for her to get some exercise of some sort. He very sweetly helps her from the car, inside the shop to a table or to a patio table if the weather is nice, and then orders their coffee. Her hands shake and she sometimes has trouble controlling the coffee cup but he's always patient and has a napkin handy to wipe up any accidents or keep her tidy. Every touch is gentle and offered with a smile, every word is comforting. He isn't waiting on her, he's caring for her. He's cherishing each opportunity to do for her what she can no longer do for herself. He's making love to her the only way he can. It's beautiful to watch.

On Friday afternoons, a young father comes in with his little girl. He's a handsome man, probably about 35 or so. She looks like she might be about 4 and she is adorable. (Why is it that little ones get the shiniest hair and the brightest eyes?) I think he picks her up from daycare for daddy weekends and this is their treat together. I can't tell what he orders but she gets apple juice and a cookie. She giggles alot, her daddy must be very funny. It's refreshing to see the way he is so attentive to her. He doesn't have his cell phone out, he never even checks it. The only thing in the world that exists is that little girl. He actually talks to her and listens to her, and enjoys her company. Who does that anymore? It seems like everywhere I go I see parents out with children but they have cell phones stuck to their ears and the kids are being ignored. Here's a man who has forsaken that trend, hopefully forever.

Then there's my favorite person to watch. My Coffee Shop Man. The object of my previous post. McCoffeeDreamy? McDreamyCoffee? No, let's not do that. We'll just stick with Coffee Shop Man. He's worth a trip to the coffee shop. Definitely. I've watched him for weeks. He comes in, orders coffee and sits alone. Sometimes he reads a book or the newspaper, sometimes he has a laptop and is busy with it for a while. Other times he sits quietly with his thoughts. I've never seen him talking on a cell phone or to anyone except a friendly exchange when he enters the shop and orders his coffee. He doesn't wear a wedding ring. He dresses casually but not as if he doesn't work or has nowhere to go each day. He's a mystery. A very handsome mystery.

I've created all kinds of stories about him in my head. I know, I know - so creepy. (Really? You think so?) I want so badly to come up with a reason to speak to him. Do I need a reason? I can't seem to come up with the courage to just say hello. Once or twice I've smiled at him and he's smiled back but I looked away and I know I blushed and... how old am I? Geeeez! I'm a grown woman acting like a teenager for goodness sake. Why can't I just.......

Oh wait...shhhhh...act normal! Here he is!