Stop acting like a fish and sit where you want

Stereotypes. You’ve heard of them, and probably taken part in using them. Usually a popular belief about one specific group of individuals,it’s no surprise using stereotypes to define others can be somewhat misleading. What is even more interesting, however, is the same principle seems to hold true when identifying ourselves and where we ‘belong’ - in social settings, at school, work – and in coffee shops.

It only takes a few minutes after walking through the door of an aroma-filled building to scan the customers and recognize the “rules” of a specific coffee shop – who sits where and how one should act in the given environment. Nearly all coffee shops are the same, collecting patrons from all walks of life while overlaying invisible seating charts to designate where a person should sit.

Most visitors can be grouped in one of the following categories: 

1. Businessman/Businesswoman: Professionally dressed, confident posture and an uncanny fixation on the computer screen in front of them. Usually order the largest coffee and consume in one sitting, only pausing to take a quick (and noticably important) phone call. Watching sometimes gives me the urge to instate a “don’t drink coffee and type” rule, as I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen unnoticed coffee dribbling down the chins of these folks and onto their shirts. Without saying a word, it’s evident others in the establishment understand their message: “I came here to work, so please don’t bother me.”
Location: Sits around the perimeter of the room, hoping for less noise in case needed for an important phone call.  

2. College Student: It’s common for these individuals to sport sweatpants, glasses and half-brushed hair. Books with titles I cannot yet pronounce cover every inch of their table, except for the small space being occupied by a silver laptop and flashy iPhone.   A calm and relatable air to them, the college student nonchalantly orders the largest drink on the menu. He/she has open more than five web browser tabs at one time, alternating between social media sites and email to try to forget about the blank Word document lingering in the background; a reminder of an unfinished assignment.
Location: Near an electrical oulet, close to the front counter in preparation for a quick coffee refill.

3. Parent: Usually a mother, the parent enters the place with children attached, as if desperately looking for a break from reality (not to mention a fix of caffeine!). Food and drinks are ordered for the kids and the stay isn’t long thanks to the screaming toddler leaving a trail of crumbs, even on their way out.
Location: Far away from anyone in the place without kids, hoping for less interuption and feelings of guilt.

4. The Others: A ‘catchall’ for those not fitting nice and neat into the categories above, among them: couples, girlfriends of varying ages and ranging from teenager to adulthood, middle-aged women reading alone with a cup of tea and the weird woman in the middle of it all, writing in a small pink notebook (that’s me!).
Location: Varies

I find it interesting that no matter the location of a coffee shop, they all have a similar theme – a common place, collecting people who enjoy coffee and others who don’t. Either way, there’s no dress code, no prerequisites, no judgement. And yet, stereotypes and unsaid cliques still exist.

In The Book of Awakening, Mark Nepo shares an experience a friend of his had while cleaning a fish tank and found it resembled something we often see in our society among humans.

“[He] put the fish in the tub, so he could clean their tank. After he’d scrubbed the film from the small walls of their make-believe deep, he went to retrieve them. He was astonished to find that, though they had the entire tub to swim in, they were huddled in a small area the size of their tank. There was nothing containing them, nothing holding them back….I began to see just how much we were taught as children to fear life outside the tank.”

I recently overheard someone say “find yourself in everyone you meet.” I am, and have been, in every one of the categories above. Yet, I too continue to stay in  the same corner of the coffee shop based on my identity on a given day, sipping coffee among the others in my school of fish.

The next time you walk into a public place, look around. Have the fish gathered? If so, find your fins and join a new school of fish. Because whether in life or as a fish, it’s better to swim than to float.

Jeff Zaslow: A man of many words, but too few years

“Write, design and create a piece of work from your career field of interest which you can be proud of.”

This was an assignment given to me (and 25 other college students) by our english professor; a man well-known and respected for his unique style of teaching. Rather than following textbooks and shuffling spoon-fed students through a series of lectures, “Dr. Bill” challenged his students to think about their passion in writing/design and apply it to the “real world”.

I was up for the challenge, and frankly, drawn to this particular assignment because there were no boundaries or guidelines; just a world full of possibilities. Writing for the university newspaper at the time, I was keen to the profession of journalism. My first thought was to interview my Dad who has been in sports writing for over 30 years. Too easy.

When given the assignment, I also had just finished reading “The Last Lecture“, a best-selling  book written by Wall Street Journal reporter Jeff Zaslow. There was something about his writing I admired and wanted to learn more about. So, after some hesitation, I decided to try my luck at emailing the now popular author in hopes of receiving a response in enough time to turn in my assignment. A few days later, I received a response from Jeff inviting me to set up some time for us to chat.

In my car, parked in a university parking lot, I sat in the driver’s seat holding a yellow notepad in one hand, cell phone in the other. My hands shook with nerves as I dialed his phone number, but once he answered, his relatable personality made me feel as though I was talking to an old friend. I continued probing him with interview questions for the next half hour - some for the school project and others just out of curiosity. I took diligent notes, submitted a solid piece of work for class and followed up by sending him a copy.

In the years following college, I have had the good fortune and opportunity of engaging with Jeff over email. Like a true professional and polished mentor, he always responded and his words always left me feeling encouraged and inspired to keep writing.

During a phone call with a close friend, I was saddened to learn Jeff Zaslow was killed in a weather-related car accident this morning in northern Michigan at the age of 53. His death comes after recently releasing a new book “The Magic Room“, a story inspired by his love for his three daughters and wife.

In a recent interview promoting his book, he said “…my job as a father is not to tell my daughters what dress to wear, not to tell them what to do. My job is to tell my girls I love them. And Sherry, that I love her, too, obviously…..when I hug my kids now, what a gift it is to be able to do that. And that’s sort of the story I’m telling in this book,which is we’ve got to hug our kids and make the most of each moment, because you never know.”

Thank you, Mr. Zaslow, for  inspiring so many people through your unique style of writing and understanding of human interaction. May your humility live on and continue to inspire future generations for many years.

And, thank you for taking the time to share your story – as part of my college project and for the years following. Let me tell you, I am certainly proud.

Motherhood – a cup of coffee all on its own

Today’s post is from my own personal cup of coffee — motherhood. Too often as a new mom, I am given a very crucial piece of advice: “Enjoy every moment. They grow up too fast.” My recent guest post on Kelly Westover’s blog  shares my perspective and reflection on life as a new(ish) mom. Enjoy!

guest post :: learning to enjoy the here and now of motherhood

Twitter Thursday – A Virtual Coffee Shop

While I enjoy sharing my  experiences, it’s also interesting to hear coffee shop stories from others.  I recently took a peek into the lives of complete strangers with one simple Twitter search and found multiple intriguing (and sometimes funny!) tweets.

So sit back, relax and enjoy the tweets. Oh, and don’t forget to let me know if you have coffee shop “talk” of your own!

“The best way to predict the future is to create it” -quote from girl’s shirt at the coffee shop.

— Elijah Goldsworthy (@RealEli) January 25, 2012

getting a third party review of World War II at the coffee shop. Must be a test at Mtn Brk High tomorrow #timeforheadphones

— Carrie Norton (@carrie_ruth) January 25, 2012

I’m pretty sure my coffee shop is playing a mash up of soundtracks from all my favorite 80′s movies right now. #omgitssoawesome

— Jocelyn Davies (@jocelyndavies) January 25, 2012

Spending the day at a coffee shop can be so good for the soul.

— Delightfully Tacky (@DelightTacky) January 25, 2012

Joy lies between the moment you see a girl in a coffee shop move to be in ur line of sight & the moment you see the outlet by her new seat.

— Jason Taylor (@JasonRyanTaylor) January 25, 2012

Should there be a time limit on how long one should stay in a coffee shop? Often times I just eat and go but sometimes I stay longer.

— Istik (@istik) January 25, 2012

Walked out of the coffee shop & thought I saw a big snowball on the ground. Turns out diapers that have exploded look strikingly similar.

— benreed (@benreed) January 25, 2012

Orchestral rendition of “Puff the Magic Dragon” currently playing on #coffeeshop speakers. Umm.

— Fred Johnson (@abjohnson235) January 25, 2012

Random Acts of #Kindness at Pay It Forward #CoffeeShop [ bit.ly/yfGGeq ]

— tine (@T_ne) January 22, 2012

that moment when you DOUBLE CHECK to make sure your headphones are plugged into your computer when ur WHAM! playlist starts! #coffeeshop

— Lisa Frame (@LisaFrame) January 20, 2012

Miserable lady at the #coffeeshop .almst 2 years on this route and neva seen her smile…:|

— samita tamang (@pagalchari) January 25, 2012

So.. I’ve spent 4 hours in a #coffeeshop & a 1/4 of it was spent in street mode on google earth trying 2 find cool places to live. #epicfail

— Sarah Davis (@liveinthe_now) January 21, 2012

I've said it before, but slurping your coffee does not make you discerning, it makes you annoying #coffeeshop

—
Joe Aimonetti (@ammojoe) January 26, 2012

The Child of Tomorrow

While most days at coffee shops tend to be a bit noisy, this one was different. It was quiet, except for the occasional sound of typing on a keyboard. That was until a group of teenagers quickly ran into the place, breaking the silence. 

They didn’t order anything, but weren’t being disruptive or obnoxious either.

“Look, look” one of the girls said as she shoved her cell phone in front of her girlfriend’s face.

“Why does the light keep turning off?”

“Ugh. I hate this phone.”

Feeling impatient and obviously frustrated, the girl grabbed the phone back from her friend and tapped a few buttons before returning it.

There were a few moments of silence while the friend was reading what seemed to be a text from a boy. The two girls sat close, both nodding their heads as they read.

“And then I said this……and this…“

“He’s so sweet,” her friend said.

They both giggled, while I sat there frozen.

That’s when it hit me. My daughter will soon be that age! And, by soon, I mean… well, 14 years from now. OK, so I admit to being a little overboard with my concerns. But, either way, I was intrigued (and shocked!) by the way technology has completely consumed these soon-to-be adults.

My "child of tomorrow"

The girls joined the others who had come with them, making a group of five – three girls and two boys. All of them were glued to the screens of their cell phones, waiting for the next text, Facebook post, tweet or annoying phone call from their parents.

“I haven’t told my Mom about tomorrow yet,” one of the boys said with a smirk.

The girl with the juicy conversation on her cell phone reached into her pocket and held it up for the boy to see.

“Hey, did you hear me and Jacob* made out?” she asked, brushing her hands through her hair.

I sat at a table a few feet away, cringing.

“Yeah, I heard. How did it go?” he said.

She handed him the phone, pointing to show him the text. He nodded his head and smiled before they all decided to leave; heads high and the now “experienced” kisser proud as could be.

While I know I shouldn’t be surprised by anything I saw or heard, I was. I am relatively young, but it still amazes me how much teenage “love” has changed since I was in high school. There was no Facebook, Twitter or smartphones then. I had a cell phone and was able to text, but passed notes (yes, handwritten!) in class, read the newspaper and took notes using a yellow tablet.

A recent article published in The New York Times examines the new age of technology, proposing “the child of tomorrow” will crave less information and instead require more quiet time.  Companies like Intel have experimented with the idea of requiring four uninterrupted hours of work per week to clear the minds of their employees. New software is also being introduced to users, allowing buyers to disable Internet connections for those who can’t seem to stay away.

I’m not sure what this will mean for my daughter or the other “children of tomorrow”, but it seems to be moving in the right direction.

And, in all of this conversation about young “puppy love”, the tie between new technology and the increasing need for quiet, there is one tiny detail I forgot to include – my husband and I started dating when I was 15 years old and  we used AOL Instant Messenger to keep in touch.

*All names have been changed to protect privacy.

New Year Lessons: Naps, Trains and Weddings

While others are well on their way to jump starting new years resolutions, I’m still trying to figure out how 2012 is already here! But, I’d be lying if I said I’m not also taking time to reflect on 2011 and set goals (finally) for 2012. Except, this year, I decided to use coffee shop lessons as an inspiration.

Making 2012 #resolutions? What about resolutions to help each other?

— UNICEF (@UNICEF) January 6, 2012

This year my goal is to write down one lesson I’ve learned each day. But before tackling that goal, I want to reflect on a few lessons I learned in coffee shops during 2011.

1. Two women, appearing to be close friends, coincidentally visit the same coffee shop at the same time. The women engage in conversation while waiting in line,  not taking long to share personal details.

“When I dream, I’m always young and single,” one of them said. “But I would never tell my husband that.”

Lesson: It’s important to have close friends. Every conversation adds a new  layer to the relationship.

2. A woman shared a glimpse of her life a few years ago. Her husband was forced to retire due to injury, she lost her job and so did her sister. Her mom became ill and the family dog passed away — all within two months. She allowed herself to be sad, but not for long. Realizing their break from obligations, the three moved to be closer to and help their mother. Had they not lost their jobs, they would have needed to hire someone to help.

Lesson:  Bad things happen; sometimes all at the same time. But, it’s a matter of perspective and how we react to the situation that really matters.

3. During a brief exchange with a barista, one woman said, “I’ve found my running pace improves with short, quick steps.”

Lesson: Exactly what she said.

4. A mother of the bride was discussing details with her daughter’s wedding planner. As the conversation builds, she begins speaking quicker with each word, as if paying the planner by the minute. “So much goes into planning,” she said. “We have the horse and carriage and now I’m thinking we are going to need to plow the field for the buses to get through.”

Really?

Lesson: Our society places too much emphasis on the details of the wedding and not enough on the meaning of the wedding. I can’t help but think of how the money paying for these lavish affairs might be spent otherwise to help fulfill the basic needs of others.

Source: eatingpetals.tumblr.com via Karolina on Pinterest

 

5. One man sits down, while another approaches the counter to order. He then returns to the table, coffee mug in hand. “Think my wife will like this one?” he said, holding up a red and white striped mug.

“I don’t know which one she would like better, but that one is cracked.”

“Probably a good reason not to get it.”

Lesson: Some things aren’t meant to be.

6.  Two businessmen are meeting to discuss, well, their children. “My daughter’s dorm was hit by the hurricane,” one of them said. “Her Resident Assistant helped get her through the terrible experience.” He went on, sharing his daughter’s experience had resulted in her volunteering for relief effort clean up and signing up to be a Resident Assistant in 2012.

Lesson: Sometimes opportunities appear when we least expect them.

7. A man rushed in to the coffee shop, noticeably frustrated. Another man passing by recognized him and they made small talk. When asked about being upset the man said, “I decided to leave the office and grab coffee before biting someone’s head off.”

Lesson: We all have these days. It’s best to accept it, buy a cup of coffee and move on.

8. A young college student sitting by herself breaks concentration to say hi to a young man as he sits near her. During their conversation she tells him about a time her family took a vacation abroad. Her mom was separated from her in a large crowd getting on a train. Her and her brother stared at the train as it departed with their mom aboard and no way of contacting her. They waited for the next train, rode to the next stop and didn’t find their mother until returning to their hotel two hours later.

Lesson: Keep family close – literally.

9. On more than one occasion, conversations focused on having trouble finding a perfect gift.  One man shared he was at a loss trying to think of something his 90 year-old mother would need. Another woman juggled gift ideas for her father-in-law. After deep discussion, it was settled – the mother would be getting a generator (she’s lost power five times in the past year) and the father-in-law, football tickets.

Lesson: Spend less time wondering “what to give” and more perfecting the act of “how to give”.

10. I walk past a man on the way in, keep an eye on him over my shoulder while visiting and smile at him upon leaving. The man sat in the middle of the coffee shop; swallowed by an oversized, dark brown leather chair. His body sank as his head lay back, resting on the back of the chair.  He was sound asleep, mouth wide open, for the full two hours I was there (and maybe longer).

Lesson: When the opportunity presents itself, take a nap.

Keeping these lessons in my back pocket, I’m raising my mug. Cheers to you for a wonderful 2012!

Better late than never.

Interested in reading other blog posts about new year lessons? Here are a few of my recent favorites:

• 2011 Lesson #2: Don’t Carpe Diem – http://momastery.com/blog/2012/01/04/2011-lesson-2-dont-carpe-diem/
• New Years Lessons from Indiana Jones: http://www.successful-blog.com/1/new-years-lessons-from-indiana-jones/
• Stop the Year and Let Me Catch Up: http://croneandbearit.wordpress.com/2012/01/06/stop-the-year-and-let-me-catch-up/
• Lessons for Living: http://simplyintentional.wordpress.com/2012/01/07/lessons-for-living/

Everything but the Kitchen

I walked up to the big, intimidating brown door, carrying a pan of warm apple crisp dessert as its sticky juices leaked out the sides onto my hands. Christmas music played loudly behind me; young children laughing and skating circles on a small ice rink under bright lights and the moon.

As I approached the building, I noticed something. The window wrapping the front of the door was shattered. The glass was broken, but not enough to cause an opening. 

Gulp. 

There was a part of me wanting to turn around, get back in my car and drive safely home. But, I signed up for this and knew it would be an eye-opening experience. I was right.

2 big myths about chronic #homelessness. 1) It’s a choice. 2) All solutions have already been tried.

— Felicity Reynolds (@FlickReynolds) December 22, 2011

After reaching the front door, I peered through the window. A young woman made eye contact and walked over to open the door for me. I smiled, introduced  myself and nervously asked to be directed where I might set down my leaking dish. An older gentleman walked down a hallway towards us and kindly showed me the way. But, moments later I learned I would need to first walk through a large gym before getting to the kitchen.

One big room, 25 mattresses; just as you see in the movies. Every mattress was accompanied by a notebook piece of paper torn from a tablet and taped above each pillow, labeled with a corresponding number. Women of all ages – young, old, crippled, healthy - sat on the mattresses, walked around the room, sang to each other or simply sat at one of the long tables set up nearby.

As I weaved my way through the mattresses lined up on the tiled floor, I noticed some of the women gathered in a corner of the room. Piquing my interest, I stared long enough to see what they were doing. A volunteer sat in a chair as the women took turns having their fingernails painted.

“You look beautiful,” the volunteer said after finishing painting for one of the women.

I made my way to the kitchen, helped set up a buffet-style table of food and grabbed a cup of coffee.

One of the women quickly ran up to me, eager to hand me a brown paper bag.

“Would you like to read this?” she said, holding up a local newspaper with a square photo of her pictured in black and white on the front page. “One of the stories is about me and the path I’m on to make a better life.”

“Yes, I would love to take a look,” I said, smiling.

“There’s something else in the bag that’s a bit more personal, if you’d like to see,” she said.

Hesitant, I opened the bag and reached in to pick up a yellow piece of fabric.

“Would you like me to take it out of the bag?” I asked, unsure if the item was too personal for the rest in the room to see.

She nodded her head yes.

I picked up and unfolded the item, which I quickly recognized as an extra-large macaroni and cheese colored t-shirt covered in words and images, hand written with a black permanent marker. I fumbled the shirt a bit, so she snatched it out of my hand and held it up for me to see more clearly. The front of the shirt read “We are a family and we still love you”.

I nodded.

She rotated the shirt, showing me the backside. My stomach dropped as I saw four little faces drawn on the fabric, and above the image, the words “If you love us, why do you make us black and blue?”.

I nodded again, unsure how to respond to a message so clear, yet so disturbingly sad.

She told me she made the t-shirt in therapy as a way to help her cope with life and start on the right path. As she placed the t-shirt back into the bag, a tall authoritative woman walked into the large room and signaled for everyone to gather in the middle of the room.

Without speaking, all of the women and volunteers (including myself) gathered between the mattresses and the tables and held hands. The woman who seemed to have authority began saying a prayer.

“Thank you Lord for bringing us together to a warm place tonight. Please bless this food and show us your grace through fellowship and the meeting of new friends. In God’s name we pray, Amen.”

How cool, I thought.

I, along with four other volunteers, took our position behind the long table with food. The women lined up single file on the other side of the table — plates in hand and manner in tact. We served our homemade chicken pot pie, garden salad and warm apple crisp and they thanked us for each serving.

“This smells so good,” one woman said.

“A home cooked meal is just what I need right now,” another said.

The women ate their meals while sharing fellowship. The dishes were empty, all food gone. I grabbed another cup of coffee and sat down at one of the tables.

What can I possibly say to these women? I’ve never been homeless. And, while I’ve had extensive training and experience working with women involved in domestic violence, I’ve fortunately never had to experience it myself.

“How was the food?” I asked, feeling a little out of place.

All of the women at the table smiled and shook their heads as if approving of the meal.

And then it hit me – I was no different from these women. I am human and so are they. Our experiences should not define our being, who we are or who we hope to be someday.

“How was your day?” I asked the woman sitting next to me.

“Difficult,” she answered, attempting to ignore me.

“Well, it’s good to know you have a full stomach of good food.”

“Well yes, but I’d like my own kitchen and be able to cook for myself again. It’s hard being homeless. It’s heavy on your heart and your mind.”

I didn’t have a response and sat silent for a moment.

“Where are you all from?” I asked, seeking conversation.

One woman grew up in Ohio and another in South Carolina. I shared with these women, while now in North Carolina that I too was an “outsider”. I had recently moved to the state from Michigan less than one year ago with my husband and 15 month-old daughter.

“They were interested to hear more about my little girl and share with me stories about their own children.

“Guess how many children I have,” one of them said. I responded with a confused look and asking, “how many?”.

“Ten,” she answered, lowering her head as if it hurt to talk about them.

“I have four kids,” said the other woman - the one who had shared her personal item with me earlier in the evening.

“But…I haven’t seen them since 1997,” she said. “They are what keeps me going each day. I know I will see them again, but it’s about taking life one step at a time and I’m focusing on that.”

I instantly felt sadness and looked over at the woman next to me who had just shared she is a mother of ten. Tears fell from her eyes as she looked up.

“Thank you for sharing your story,” she said.

“You’re welcome; it’s a way for me to help myself, too. I am amazed when anything I do or say actually means something to another person.”

How true. And while I’m not sure if anything I said that night made a difference to those women, I left with an appreciation for my family, a warm home and for my very own kitchen -  used to make sticky apple crisp for new friends on a Friday night.

Coffee Shops Serve More Than Coffee

The reasons people visit coffee shops varies: birthdays, gossip, therapy, relaxation, reading, studying, dinner, work…. and the list goes on.

This Seattle coffee shop aims to help veterans share their problems and treat the mental scars of war.

Missing Puzzle Pieces

Does anyone realize that when you want to move one thing, you sometimes have to move 5 other things?! #NYCLiving #puzzle

— Gretchen Harnick (@Parsons560) December 15, 2011

I recently came across a conversation similar to a puzzle with a few missing pieces. OK, maybe more than a few.

I generally don’t sit near the front of a coffee shop. The seat is convenient, but also comes with the sound of loud machines, a distracting cash register and a breeze every time the entrance door opens.

That is, unless it’s the only open seat in the place.

As I passed by a table of four before sitting down two feet away, something caught  my eye. The folks sitting next to me - two men, two women - were each holding colored notecards. Odd, but not too weird, I thought.

I went on about my business until I noticed two large school photos spread out in the middle of their table. One girl, one boy; both middle school age, flashing fake smiles in front of a dull blue background. What could they be doing? Playing a game with notecards. Yep, that’s it. 

That’s when I saw the writing on each of the notecards. “Food” on one. “Transportation” scribbled on another.

The four middle-aged adults were silent, holding and shuffling cards in their hands as if trying to decide on the next big move. It seems they are “ranking” the cards, placing them in piles based on importance.

“Pets are not a luxury,” one of the men said firmly. “I know it’s not OK, but it’s a reality.”

“They should have to pay something,” one of the women said in response. “Gas, electric, insurance.”

Source: oopsicraftmypants.com via Svetlana on Pinterest

 

At this point, I’m moving further away from the notion this conversation is a game and closer to thinking the decisions being made at the table next to me would make an important impact on the lives of two middle school students. Maybe these individuals are giving away a scholarship, I thought.  

I kept listening.

“Where are we going to place travel soccer?” the second man at the table asked.  ”And, what about braces?”

“We need to get her into a three  bedroom, 30-day apartment,” another added.

The conversation quickly turned from monthly expenses to a discussion about societal norms and their relation to the children’s situation — one I didn’t know anything about…. yet.

One of the men locked his shoe around the foot of his chair, sliding it closer to the table.

“It seems mothers have a hard time leaving their children, even if only for a few hours and fathers seem ok with it,” he said. “So, I understand you all have your own stress, but we need to think about the kids.”

Huh?

Just as it seems they are close to wrapping up the conversation and postponing the rest for a later date, they continue chatting, with one women becoming noticeably frustrated and beginning to dominate the conversation.

“He says all the right things,” she said, pointing to the picture of the young boy. “It’s all the stuff he knows you want to hear. I think it’s really a test.”

My “game” theory was gone. Scholarships had clearly been omitted from the realm of possibilities, too. So, what could they be gathering at this coffee shop to discuss?

The frustrated woman continued, sipping coffee between each statement.

“I feel stable in life if I can bring something to the party,” she said. “If he can’t bring something to the party he’s probably feeling used.”

The conversation continued, but  I could not hear the details over the loud coffee grinder. And then, the grinder stopped and the man, still loud as if trying to speak over the machine, said something to make me throw all of previous theories out the window.

“I’m assuming they are sleeping together,” he said.

Who is sleeping together? How does this even remotely relate to any of the details in the conversation previous to the coffee grinder?

I gathered more “pieces” to the puzzle, but they were more ad hoc details than added information to the story:

• The boy’s father frequently tells him he needs to be more responsible;
• One of the men at the table recently received a call at 11 p.m. on a Friday and he was concerned about the situation;
• “She” – whoever that is – is the monkey in the middle; and
• The boy’s father seems to think it’s OK not to have a relationship with his children as long as they turn out to be good people.

The four adults stood up and exchanged hugs before saying, “Let’s all get together again soon. We need to figure this out and make it happen.”

In my family, it’s an unsaid rule when putting together a puzzle that someone will hide a piece or two in their pocket until the very end. And, I’m beginning to feel that’s what has happened here, too.

Do you have a missing piece?

An Hour of Strangers

“Daddy, do you like sand in your sandwiches?” a little boy asked, sitting on his father’s shoulders and lowering his head, careful not to hit his head on the coffee shop entrance.

Source: myrtleandeunice.com via Sarah on Pinterest

My initial thought was – how funny. A little boy, who is clearly too young to understand ‘sand-wiches’ does not imply sand is actually in the food. An hour later, I started to think he may be on to something. 

Two middle-aged women sat at a two-person table in the corner of the establishment, obviously engaged in what seemed to be a serious conversation. They sat close, both leaning forward as if waiting for the climax of a good book. It was one of those “closed” conversations; the kind you see in a public place, and as a courtesy, sit far away.

What was interesting with this one, though, was there were two gentlemen who weren’t able to see the situation this way, and with coffee in hand, confidently sat down at the table two feet away.

“Whatchall talkin’ about?” one of the men asked the women.

“The benefits and secrets of shea butter.”

I smiled.

The men seemed genuinely interested and went on to ask questions about why people use the “expensive stuff” – referring to name brand cosmetics. In a matter of minutes, these folks went from complete strangers to more than acquaintances.

I looked to the left, as the jacket of a young man walking by brushed my side. He was looking for a place to sit in an overcrowded coffee shop on a busy afternoon. I began to feel guilty for sitting by myself at a four-person table and was a few seconds away from offering him a seat.

He started toward the only couch in the place – a small; beat up, two-cushion piece of furniture. A man in his late 60′s sat on one side of the couch, deeply engaged in a recent edition of The Wall Street Journal. As the young man approached and began to sit down, they exchanged a friendly greeting, introduced themselves with a handshake and went back to reading.

No longer strangers.

A woman rushed into the coffee shop. Her hair was a mess, keys hanging out of her purse and chomping a piece of pink bubble gum.  She shot a snarky look at a man sitting by himself at a nearby table and then sat down.

“So what do we need to do?” she said.

From what I could hear, the two were recently divorced and meeting face-to-face for the first time to discuss their high-school aged daughter. At first, the conversation replicated an exchange between two co-workers meeting for the first time.

How odd, I thought. Two individuals who seemed to have once had a loving, intimate relationship, now trying to get to know one another again.

Topics of conversation ranged from typical custody details to explaining their situation to their frustrated daughter. By the time they got up to leave, the two seemed less like new strangers and more like old friends.

And, then, just after the new divorcees left the building, a man in his late 40′s or early 50′s walked in the coffee shop with a set of keys in hand.

“Did someone lose their keys?” he asked loudly, trying to speak over a crowded coffee shop. “These keys were left in the trunk of the white car parked on the street out front.”

It only took a few seconds for a college student to come running to the front door.

“Thank you so much! Someone could have taken these and I appreciate your honesty for bringing them in,” he said.

“David,” the older man said with a smile as they shook hands.

 ”I’m Joe. Thanks again.”

“Not a problem. It’s what I hope someone would do for me.”

David walked out the door and continued walking down the busy street. Joe returned to studying at a table in the back corner.

After witnessing these interesting exchanges between strangers, I thought back to the little boy’s question.

“Do you like sand in your sandwiches?”

It didn’t seem so odd now, because it helped me realize something about strange -ers. They might not be so strange, after all.

I don’t like the”strange” in strangers. And, I don’t like sand in my sandwiches, either.

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