I'm sorry, wonderful coffee friends, you're not forever forgotten. I'm postponing talking about our meetings for now because I was starting to think I had forgotten what it was to write just to write, without an agenda. I want to get 87 coffees done, but I also know this project needs me creative and feeling alive with the work. I love writing and miss it. I've been knee deep in other work for awhile and I wanted to get back to the basics, so I'm sharing some things I learned in April here on this blog for a change. Don't forget to link up with Emily to join in the fun.
Here are 5 (hey 5 is better than none) things I came up with that I've learned or paid attention to recently:
1. I've been taking a class on crisis management, and I am once again reminded how much the C word is overused.
I mean, I'm having a writing crisis. I mean, I had to say it because everyone else is using it...
Note to self: there are so many movies with 'crisis' in them. You may never look at another movie the same.
2. My house might mimic the state of my brain at the current moment; if there's lots going on and clutter from work and school and life, then perhaps some sense of balance is needed (ie: writing?). It gets better but it's still a constant process of cleaning up after myself. I haven't found any keys in the freezer yet so we're good.
3. I CAN return library books on time.
This is such a big deal. I just want to leave it at that with no further explanation.
But, I'll just say this. I have a terrible track record of returning books. I finally returned a book to my friend who went to live in Mexico but she asked me specifically (from Mexico) for the book back. I gave it back and she was happy! It was like she got a present, only not really because I held her book hostage (unintentionally of course) for a few months. And apparently while she was overseas, people there asked her all about the book and had she read it or did she own it. I am not sure if there was a section in the book about lending people your stuff, but the good news is, she's still a good friend.
4. Little babies know how to swipe phones.
I'm a little afraid for the next generation because we think it's bad now but my friend's darling baby got into my phone and nearly deleted some pictures with the swipe of a finger. She's still a baby who I promise just learned to walk. What she doesn't know: my name. What she does know in addition to how to mess with phones: a few words like "uh-oh," how to use chopsticks and eat sushi. No matter that they kept falling to the floor when I was out with her and her mom at a restaurant a couple weeks ago; the girl might be a budding genius.
5. I need to move it move it.
I went running for the first time in awhile yesterday and it felt good. I'm not so much a runner but it's nice to move. Perhaps if I can get out more routinely for such active engagements I will not be like the characters below who have a lot of energy to burn.
You're welcome..
I may or may not have played this on repeat for a little while just now (while sitting on my couch..)
Happy almost May!
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Sunday, April 12, 2015
So many coffees: grocery store camp out
No, I didn't really camp out at the grocery store to meet people and have some new stories/coffees for you all.
What do you think, that I plan these things?
I can't help it that the grocery store is a magnet for humorous adventures. I just go there and seem to end up meeting strangers almost every time. I'm behind in documenting this so I may just lump a couple together from tonight.
There's Mike, the produce man who is always in a good mood. He performed a rap song for me about bacon (because I was buying bacon, of course), and told me tonight the secret to success is 'just give it time.' Not sure what that refers to exactly but that's not important. Most things he says are profound, even if they are short and to the point. He's not a stranger anymore, because every time he sees me he throws out a wise word or two.
Then there's Renee, who told me she has having a long day. We got into a conversation about when the store is busier and why, finding deals and seniors who shop on Thursdays because there is a discount. Since I shop at her store a lot, she encouraged me to find someone over 60 and ask them to shop with me on discount days. I told her I didn't know too many people over 60. "It doesn't matter," she said. "You can just find one off the street."
An experiment in its own right...
A few weeks ago was Shonita (98 percent sure on her name), a cashier from Target. She had so much energy and enthusiasm. She actually pulled us --me and the most interesting coffee I've met yet -- over to look at some jewelry she got for her friends in Bible study. Lots more conversation happened, I think about Hamburger Helper, and we left realizing we had met someone very southern and very friendly, in the best possible way. I don't know why southern makes a difference anymore, since I've lived here eight years, but I think it's the southerners who have made this northern girl branch out the way she has. Carrying on conversations in line is totally normal, entertaining and can also be a learning experience here. Thank you, Shonita, for reminding me of that.
What do you think, that I plan these things?
I can't help it that the grocery store is a magnet for humorous adventures. I just go there and seem to end up meeting strangers almost every time. I'm behind in documenting this so I may just lump a couple together from tonight.
There's Mike, the produce man who is always in a good mood. He performed a rap song for me about bacon (because I was buying bacon, of course), and told me tonight the secret to success is 'just give it time.' Not sure what that refers to exactly but that's not important. Most things he says are profound, even if they are short and to the point. He's not a stranger anymore, because every time he sees me he throws out a wise word or two.
Then there's Renee, who told me she has having a long day. We got into a conversation about when the store is busier and why, finding deals and seniors who shop on Thursdays because there is a discount. Since I shop at her store a lot, she encouraged me to find someone over 60 and ask them to shop with me on discount days. I told her I didn't know too many people over 60. "It doesn't matter," she said. "You can just find one off the street."
An experiment in its own right...
A few weeks ago was Shonita (98 percent sure on her name), a cashier from Target. She had so much energy and enthusiasm. She actually pulled us --me and the most interesting coffee I've met yet -- over to look at some jewelry she got for her friends in Bible study. Lots more conversation happened, I think about Hamburger Helper, and we left realizing we had met someone very southern and very friendly, in the best possible way. I don't know why southern makes a difference anymore, since I've lived here eight years, but I think it's the southerners who have made this northern girl branch out the way she has. Carrying on conversations in line is totally normal, entertaining and can also be a learning experience here. Thank you, Shonita, for reminding me of that.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
When someone shares coffee with me: airplane adventures
It's already April, and it's time to get down to business with these coffees.
I had one of those moments the other day on an airplane when I didn't think I was going to be able to pull off all my coffees by the end of this year (or was it a year from October when I made a goal with the guys on the train?). I think I have until October, but still, 87 is a lot of coffees. I picked a big number. Why didn't I pick 27 or something?
Just when I was feeling a little ambivilant toward the whole project, I sat down next to two chatty ladies. By the end of the flight, I had learned that the neighbor my left (Kelsey) was in a bad car wreck a couple weeks ago. She showed us pictures of the car. Danielle, sitting to her left, kept showing us pictures of her trip to Columbia. Go there, she said, if you ever get the chance. I also learned they BOTH love their dogs very much.
All these conversations began because of one simple question: "Are you Irish?" I saw the ring she was wearing. After I asked, Danielle piped in that she was Irish, too.
These two cured my recent bout of favoring anonymity over meeting strangers, especially on airplanes and trams and the like.
Of course, every time I come out of my shell again, I'm dazzled by the stories and all the adventures (except when traveling makes me motion sick but that's neither here nor there). And I'm sure the tales I learn keep changing me.
I wouldn't have guessed that Danielle came from a tough background, one I fight all the time in my work with my kiddoes. But that's her story to tell, not mine.
Her kindness and spirit, I don't think she'd mind me sharing with you. Because she and Kelsey made the coffee happen, hands down.
Thanks, ladies, for reminding me that this job isn't always work. Sometimes, I get to just sit back and watch the stories unfold.
I had one of those moments the other day on an airplane when I didn't think I was going to be able to pull off all my coffees by the end of this year (or was it a year from October when I made a goal with the guys on the train?). I think I have until October, but still, 87 is a lot of coffees. I picked a big number. Why didn't I pick 27 or something?
Just when I was feeling a little ambivilant toward the whole project, I sat down next to two chatty ladies. By the end of the flight, I had learned that the neighbor my left (Kelsey) was in a bad car wreck a couple weeks ago. She showed us pictures of the car. Danielle, sitting to her left, kept showing us pictures of her trip to Columbia. Go there, she said, if you ever get the chance. I also learned they BOTH love their dogs very much.
All these conversations began because of one simple question: "Are you Irish?" I saw the ring she was wearing. After I asked, Danielle piped in that she was Irish, too.
These two cured my recent bout of favoring anonymity over meeting strangers, especially on airplanes and trams and the like.
Of course, every time I come out of my shell again, I'm dazzled by the stories and all the adventures (except when traveling makes me motion sick but that's neither here nor there). And I'm sure the tales I learn keep changing me.
I wouldn't have guessed that Danielle came from a tough background, one I fight all the time in my work with my kiddoes. But that's her story to tell, not mine.
Her kindness and spirit, I don't think she'd mind me sharing with you. Because she and Kelsey made the coffee happen, hands down.
Thanks, ladies, for reminding me that this job isn't always work. Sometimes, I get to just sit back and watch the stories unfold.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Yellow Light
"And what does it feel like?" we asked.
"Well," she said, leaning over to us like a secret, "it feels like a gust of wind blowing inside your heart. It feels like bright yellow paint." - The Persistence of Yellow
I went over to sit with my friend yesterday while she painted her new house. I am a good sitter. My friends like to have me come by while they do things like clean or paint, I've noticed.
I offered her to help but she said just pull up a chair. She wanted to paint, she wanted me for the talking.
The room we were in would have been her little girl's big girl room. Yellow was her favorite color. It's mine, too.
Yellow rooms just make things better. Painting over white walls, adding color, there's beauty in that.
As I typed the word paint, just now it came out pain..
Pain is everywhere, that's fitting. There are weighty situations at work. There's often pain in my body. It's inside my heart as I think of my friend's loss.
But through the visit, I push against what seems dark because the room is filled with light.
I try to find the paint in my heart.
It's there in our conversation, even if spotty at times. It starts to feel natural again to laugh at stories told while the white walls get covered up.
I leave from my friend and I have to get ready for a baby shower and a four year old birthday party.
Death and life are so mixed together and right now I hate it. The life part of this equation creates a sadness in me, thinking of my friends enduring now this side of heaven.
We are here not to live isolated but to live life together.
That's the point of recording these visits, these coffees, I remind myself. To remember that it's true.
But what of the light here, in the mourning?
The light is usually easy to find in my coffee encounters.
I love adventure, and if I was seeking one out, I'd prefer lighthearted please, with all kinds of interesting strangers and characters to bring added humor to the mix and can we save the heartbreaking stories for another day?
But if I'm writing (let's hope!) a book that's supposed to be true to life and people, that's not the whole picture.
The good news is even the hardest stories to tell, thankfully, include some yellow paint..
*one from the archives
"Well," she said, leaning over to us like a secret, "it feels like a gust of wind blowing inside your heart. It feels like bright yellow paint." - The Persistence of Yellow
~~~
I do have a book that is called The Persistence of Yellow and the entire cover is yellow (obviously). It's a collection of recipes and poems about life (don't you want a recipe about life dedicated to the color yellow? Of course. Don't worry that most of them are fairly odd. Yellow has always been doing its own thing.
I went over to sit with my friend yesterday while she painted her new house. I am a good sitter. My friends like to have me come by while they do things like clean or paint, I've noticed.
I offered her to help but she said just pull up a chair. She wanted to paint, she wanted me for the talking.
The room we were in would have been her little girl's big girl room. Yellow was her favorite color. It's mine, too.
Yellow rooms just make things better. Painting over white walls, adding color, there's beauty in that.
As I typed the word paint, just now it came out pain..
Pain is everywhere, that's fitting. There are weighty situations at work. There's often pain in my body. It's inside my heart as I think of my friend's loss.
But through the visit, I push against what seems dark because the room is filled with light.
I try to find the paint in my heart.
It's there in our conversation, even if spotty at times. It starts to feel natural again to laugh at stories told while the white walls get covered up.
I leave from my friend and I have to get ready for a baby shower and a four year old birthday party.
Death and life are so mixed together and right now I hate it. The life part of this equation creates a sadness in me, thinking of my friends enduring now this side of heaven.
We are here not to live isolated but to live life together.
That's the point of recording these visits, these coffees, I remind myself. To remember that it's true.
But what of the light here, in the mourning?
The light is usually easy to find in my coffee encounters.
I love adventure, and if I was seeking one out, I'd prefer lighthearted please, with all kinds of interesting strangers and characters to bring added humor to the mix and can we save the heartbreaking stories for another day?
But if I'm writing (let's hope!) a book that's supposed to be true to life and people, that's not the whole picture.
The good news is even the hardest stories to tell, thankfully, include some yellow paint..
*one from the archives
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Group of Four People...and Occassionally Other People
I haven't written on here in awhile because I keep thinking I need something big to say, a monumental moment.
I've had a lot of "coffees" lately, lots of interesting meetings. I'll be sure to get back to the business of telling grocery store and museum stories soon, but I can't forget about the people that I see on the day-to-day who make life more eventful because of the regular 'coffees' I have with them.
For example, my neighbors who don't live beside me anymore. I still call them my neighbors but instead of the luxury of living a building next to them, I frequent their new place. They are friends. A kind of family here as mine is far away.
Tomorrow, Group Two of A Group of Four People (a silly nickname that stuck) is moving back to Ohio and she'll be farther away, but her next adventures are sure to be exciting.
In fact, Group Two (far left of the first picture) was one of a handful of people I first interviewed when I was getting this book rolling last year. I wasn't sure which way I wanted to go with it, but was a bit more direct and planned back then.
I sat in the kitchen with her and had her choose a drink of her choice (she choose tea). We sat down, I asked her questions and tried to be professional. She then reminded me we already knew each other.
We never know where the journey will take us. Thankfully, it usually involves laughter.
I've had a lot of "coffees" lately, lots of interesting meetings. I'll be sure to get back to the business of telling grocery store and museum stories soon, but I can't forget about the people that I see on the day-to-day who make life more eventful because of the regular 'coffees' I have with them.
For example, my neighbors who don't live beside me anymore. I still call them my neighbors but instead of the luxury of living a building next to them, I frequent their new place. They are friends. A kind of family here as mine is far away.
Tomorrow, Group Two of A Group of Four People (a silly nickname that stuck) is moving back to Ohio and she'll be farther away, but her next adventures are sure to be exciting.
In fact, Group Two (far left of the first picture) was one of a handful of people I first interviewed when I was getting this book rolling last year. I wasn't sure which way I wanted to go with it, but was a bit more direct and planned back then.
I sat in the kitchen with her and had her choose a drink of her choice (she choose tea). We sat down, I asked her questions and tried to be professional. She then reminded me we already knew each other.
We never know where the journey will take us. Thankfully, it usually involves laughter.
group of 4..had to post one with group 4's awesome facial expressions.
real group of 4 picture
Friday, January 9, 2015
A name with a face (airport tour guide)
My new favorite airport is Detroit airport. I never thought I'd have a favorite airport. Until I met a tram attendant who directed me toward concourse D and he proceeded to tell me all about where I needed to go plus did I know there was a light tunnel in the airport?
No I did not!
I was enthralled, to say the least.
I'm almost positive the airport tour guide's name was Ken, Kenny maybe. I'm better with faces than names, even though I try and work on that. I love that no two faces are the same; maybe in part that is why I like meeting new people so much.
I have a secret for you.
I've always been chasing this book. Looking to attach names with faces. I'm a dreamer soul, trying to get to the bottom of things, but especially when I was young I had lots of unanswerable questions. Like, why don't we learn the name of the person at the toll booth when we pass by him or her at every holiday trip?
There are different people there each time. It's hard to get to know the toll booth man. These answers weren't enough. I figured you can't always get a name, but you can try, and if not, you can at least give a Happy Thanksgiving.
I made my dad do this to a man at the toll booth once close to Thanksgiving because he was handing the money and I would have had to yell to the toll booth man. My dad wasn't as outspoken as me with strangers and didn't like the whole "Happy Thanksgiving" idea before Thanksgiving but I think it meant a lot to Henry. I'm pretty sure his name was Henry, but if not, the story has always kept him that way. I think I've named a lot of people over the years.
Also, here's another secret. I got a strange feeling sometimes when I traveled. I'd see people in rest stops or toll booths or even families in cars passing me by, and I had this sinking feeling I'd never get to meet them. I can't explain it, but the memory of that feeling has stuck with me even as an adult when I used to logic to tell me that I can't possibly meet all the people. Which is okay.
Maybe I can pay more attention though, and if so, the Kens or Kennys (sorry if I made this up) of this world might help us see the light.
I love these meetings because they remind me it's good for the world around me to stop for a minute and to take in the scenery, to forget all the rushing.
Perhaps a busy tunnel isn't the best place to have a picture taken, or is it?
No I did not!
I was enthralled, to say the least.
I'm almost positive the airport tour guide's name was Ken, Kenny maybe. I'm better with faces than names, even though I try and work on that. I love that no two faces are the same; maybe in part that is why I like meeting new people so much.
I have a secret for you.
I've always been chasing this book. Looking to attach names with faces. I'm a dreamer soul, trying to get to the bottom of things, but especially when I was young I had lots of unanswerable questions. Like, why don't we learn the name of the person at the toll booth when we pass by him or her at every holiday trip?
There are different people there each time. It's hard to get to know the toll booth man. These answers weren't enough. I figured you can't always get a name, but you can try, and if not, you can at least give a Happy Thanksgiving.
I made my dad do this to a man at the toll booth once close to Thanksgiving because he was handing the money and I would have had to yell to the toll booth man. My dad wasn't as outspoken as me with strangers and didn't like the whole "Happy Thanksgiving" idea before Thanksgiving but I think it meant a lot to Henry. I'm pretty sure his name was Henry, but if not, the story has always kept him that way. I think I've named a lot of people over the years.
Also, here's another secret. I got a strange feeling sometimes when I traveled. I'd see people in rest stops or toll booths or even families in cars passing me by, and I had this sinking feeling I'd never get to meet them. I can't explain it, but the memory of that feeling has stuck with me even as an adult when I used to logic to tell me that I can't possibly meet all the people. Which is okay.
Maybe I can pay more attention though, and if so, the Kens or Kennys (sorry if I made this up) of this world might help us see the light.
I love these meetings because they remind me it's good for the world around me to stop for a minute and to take in the scenery, to forget all the rushing.
Perhaps a busy tunnel isn't the best place to have a picture taken, or is it?
Thanks, Ken (ny)
Monday, January 5, 2015
The power of a phone calendar (two guys on a train)
If you want to know the truth, I blame Paul and Matt for this blog. And several other people who have helped along the way (I guess I should include you all who have known me for longer than a train ride...)
I had just left the conference that was so profound that my cousin, who I would meet up with in just a few short minutes in the city, said caused me to be 'all kinds of sentimental.' I was riding a real live train for the first time since my European excursion in 2005 so I was taking a video (of course) for my roommates-turned-lifelong-frieds from that adventure when I was interrupted by the two guys behind me.
They asked where I was going because of my seat buddy. The fifty pounds of luggage taking up space in the aisle. I didn't mind conversation even though my brain was like silly putty after the weekend's learnings. They were approachable, insurance salesmen (for mega churches, they said) and seemed to enjoy showing me the sights as we went into the city. Of course, that included the ins and outs of the train. Fun fact: you can drink on the metra train. This was told to me by Paul. Or was it Matt? Either way, they were having fun, so as the train rolled on, so did our conversation.
We got to talking about their work and the conference at Willow Creek. Somehow, the subject of writing came up. Of course, I was hyped up on inspiration and bravery, so words about my aspiring book called 87 Coffees (which I'd been trying to write for almost a year now with little progress) came flooding out.
"87 Coffees? What's that?" they asked.
I told them it was about unplanned meetings with new faces in the crowd, 87 to be exact. Or at least that was the point on the horizon. I told them I meet people all the time through interesting encounters or connections so why not write about it? It's usually funny. This comment not to be directed at the situation in front of me where it seemed like the only people drinking on the train and making a racket were the ones talking to me. The guy across the way from us would be snoring soon, he was so fast asleep.
"You guys have got to be characters in this book," I said. " Is that okay?"
"When's it coming out?" they asked (I'm pretty sure they also agreed somewhere in there).
I squirmed a bit. Oh look, time to go...
Paul pulled out his phone calendar and said he couldn't wait to check on this project. Everyone (except the man sleeping) started getting excited.
A year. From that day. That's when he'd check on it. "A year's enough time to do this, right?
Was that a real question? I barely had anything written.
He put it in his phone. You know, like when you write down appointments and important matters? You rarely look back until that day, so it felt permanent.
Matt did the same thing.
I'm not sure I answered their question.
I asked another question. What about the possibility it wasn't done, what if they didn't see anything after a year's time?
"We can just push the date back a year in our phones."
What?! That's it?
Space to breathe.
They quizzed me on their names again so I wouldn't forget (with all that time that might elapse, I didn't blame them).
Me forget them, though? They just told me they were going to make sure a stranger got her book written. Who knew all she needed was a little push, knowing there were people out there waiting for the story?
I believe them, too.
I need to practice believing in people everyday, and reminding myself of the light there. Maybe that's what'll come out of this. A whole lot of light in what is often a dark world. We'll see.
Matt and Paul (and friends!)...I don't want to wait one or more years to write your stories. Here goes nothing.
:::
I had just left the conference that was so profound that my cousin, who I would meet up with in just a few short minutes in the city, said caused me to be 'all kinds of sentimental.' I was riding a real live train for the first time since my European excursion in 2005 so I was taking a video (of course) for my roommates-turned-lifelong-frieds from that adventure when I was interrupted by the two guys behind me.
They asked where I was going because of my seat buddy. The fifty pounds of luggage taking up space in the aisle. I didn't mind conversation even though my brain was like silly putty after the weekend's learnings. They were approachable, insurance salesmen (for mega churches, they said) and seemed to enjoy showing me the sights as we went into the city. Of course, that included the ins and outs of the train. Fun fact: you can drink on the metra train. This was told to me by Paul. Or was it Matt? Either way, they were having fun, so as the train rolled on, so did our conversation.
We got to talking about their work and the conference at Willow Creek. Somehow, the subject of writing came up. Of course, I was hyped up on inspiration and bravery, so words about my aspiring book called 87 Coffees (which I'd been trying to write for almost a year now with little progress) came flooding out.
"87 Coffees? What's that?" they asked.
I told them it was about unplanned meetings with new faces in the crowd, 87 to be exact. Or at least that was the point on the horizon. I told them I meet people all the time through interesting encounters or connections so why not write about it? It's usually funny. This comment not to be directed at the situation in front of me where it seemed like the only people drinking on the train and making a racket were the ones talking to me. The guy across the way from us would be snoring soon, he was so fast asleep.
"You guys have got to be characters in this book," I said. " Is that okay?"
"When's it coming out?" they asked (I'm pretty sure they also agreed somewhere in there).
I squirmed a bit. Oh look, time to go...
Paul pulled out his phone calendar and said he couldn't wait to check on this project. Everyone (except the man sleeping) started getting excited.
A year. From that day. That's when he'd check on it. "A year's enough time to do this, right?
Was that a real question? I barely had anything written.
He put it in his phone. You know, like when you write down appointments and important matters? You rarely look back until that day, so it felt permanent.
Matt did the same thing.
I'm not sure I answered their question.
I asked another question. What about the possibility it wasn't done, what if they didn't see anything after a year's time?
"We can just push the date back a year in our phones."
What?! That's it?
Space to breathe.
They quizzed me on their names again so I wouldn't forget (with all that time that might elapse, I didn't blame them).
Me forget them, though? They just told me they were going to make sure a stranger got her book written. Who knew all she needed was a little push, knowing there were people out there waiting for the story?
I believe them, too.
I need to practice believing in people everyday, and reminding myself of the light there. Maybe that's what'll come out of this. A whole lot of light in what is often a dark world. We'll see.
Matt and Paul (and friends!)...I don't want to wait one or more years to write your stories. Here goes nothing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)