A Day to Pay Homage to the Makers of our Coffee

A little love (and a lot of extra chocolate) go a long way in making any day better.
©2013 JELindsay

This past week I was hit with (what I’d like to think is) a marvelous idea. Random idea generation isn’t all that uncommon for me. I ask myself “What If?” all the time. But this time my “What If” is a little bit different. And it was spurred on by a cup of coffee.

As writers, one of the things we tend to talk about a lot is coffee. 

We need it to function, to awaken our muse. We drink it in the morning. We drink it in the afternoon. We drink it far too late at night and then wonder why we can’t sleep. (Of course we blame a new astounding idea for that!)

But there is one thing we don’t tweet about all that often. We don’t tweet about the people who go the extra mile when they brew our precious elixir of life. Our baristas.

Now it’s possible you stand in as your own barista and keep that coffee pot full yourself, but I’m a well-known face at more than one place. My favorite haunt is Rogue Roasters in Grants Pass. It’s a small family-owned shop that roasts its own beans right in the store and showcases a new local artist on the first Friday of each month.

It’s here that the baristas know me well enough they’ll come across the room to give me a bear hug when I first walk in. It’s here that I’m teased about my predictability in what I order every Tuesday afternoon. And it’s here that a special drink was invented for me on a day I couldn’t figure out what I wanted because I was far too frazzled by the challenges life presented me with that particular day.

My baristas make me smile. They make me laugh. And they inspire me each time I see them. As often as I thank them, I feel like there’s something more I can do to express my appreciation for the work they do. 

So today I’d like to propose a new holiday: Barista Appreciation Day.

On Friday, April 5th, I intend to make an extra effort to thank those who get up extremely early or stay up extremely late to make sure I’m alert throughout my day. I’d like to invite my fellow coffee connoisseurs to do the same. Whether it be a card, a flower, or maybe a little extra tip, do something to honor, appreciate, and encourage those who remain cheerful in what can be a very demanding and sometimes thankless job.

It’s because of people like baristas that our lives are a little better each day, and for that I am incredibly thankful.  

30 Days of Thankfulness in Writing – Day 8: Veterans

I was sitting in the Denver airport waiting for my flight home. I’d been attending a writers conference and a call had come in at 2 that morning telling me my dad’s stepbrother, a severely disabled vet, had suddenly passed away. I remember trying to read Deceived by James Scott Bell when a very tall, dark-haired soldier walked into my gate area.

My first thought was: He’s from my hometown National Guard unit! I need to go over and say thank you! Then I was hit by a fit of shyness and thought, he’ll think I’m trying to flirt with him and he’s probably got a wife and daughter waiting for him at home.  So I stayed in my seat as he sat down across from me.

I couldn’t help glance at him over the top of my book from time to time. There was just something about him that had nothing to do with how handsome he looked in his uniform. I even caught him looking at me a couple of times with a curious expression on his face, though I was pretty sure it was because of the giant eye on the cover of my book.

Then our gate changed. All of us marched together, bags in hand, from one waiting area to another. The soldier was now sitting to my right and just behind along the window, and after a phone call with my mom I gave up even pretending to read anymore. That’s when I decided to throw away my Starbucks cup and finally noticed the name on his jacket: Ash.

Daniel. The little boy who ran to my aid in second grade when I got stung by a bee while on the monkey bars and fell. He wouldn’t let anyone near me but the Teacher’s Aid. Daniel, my brother’s superior officer in Civil Air Patrol during High School. I hadn’t seen him in years, but some random fluke put his luggage through another airport and him in Denver at the same time I was waiting to fly home. Even crazier was he remembered me.

Our gate changed a third time. We spent the remainder of our delay standing in a waiting area the size of a tuna can talking, me about my writing and youth activities, he about cars and his service. (I remember he kept instinctively moving me so I wouldn’t get trampled by others.) He was on leave for a month before heading back to Afghanistan. It was his third deployment, but he was considering volunteering for a fourth because he’s single and it would mean a husband and father wouldn’t have to go.

I’ve had several friends leave for active duty in the years since 9-11. I’ve been blessed in that every single one of them has returned and been physically whole. I also have numerous family members who have served. Some made it home but suffered the effects of war physically and mentally. Others gave their last breath. Each of them had the same attitude as Daniel. For them not serving was never an option. It was an honor and a privilege to guard and protect not just their loved ones, but strangers as well.

Daniel and I lost track of each other after landing. Two years passed and I wondered about his whereabouts from time to time.  This summer while at a retirement party for one of his former Civil Air Patrol Senior Officers, my brother ran into him again and put us in touch with each other. We went out for a couple of drinks and ended talking into the wee hours of the morning about life. He’s Stateside again, but still active and plans to serve long-term. The fierce determination and protective instinct I saw in his eyes on the playground that day as kids is still clearly visible in his eyes.

So to Daniel, my friends and family, and every other veteran who has ever served: Thank you! Thank you for setting your safety aside to protect ordinary people like me.

To the families who have waited for loved ones to come home, and for those who are still waiting, I honor your sacrifice today, as well.

30 Days of Thankfulness in Writing – Day 1: Professors

During the past few years I’ve seen several of my friends embark on a 30-day Thankfulness challenge for the month of November. The idea is to post on their Facebook page one item each day for which they are thankful. I was so intrigued by this that I decided that this year I would attempt to update my blog every day with something or someone that has been a blessing in my writing life. I’d love to have you join me by visiting each day and perhaps posting something for which you are thankful for in the comments section below.

Today I am thankful for four college professors I had who saw a talent in me they decided to foster by pushing me harder than I at times thought fair.

I am thankful for Rick Thompson who saw in a ridiculous and very short story an ability to engage the imagination and create a world he thought children would love to explore. It is because of him I first started dreaming of becoming a real writer.

I am thankful for Luis Perotti, a World Lit professor who realized I just needed someone to sit down and explain a few simple mechanics in order to really excel in writing, and who opened a whole new world for me as a result. I only had one class with him, but he always stopped me in the hall when he saw me to catch up with me and see how my education (and writing) were progressing.

I am thankful for Mada Morgan who introduced me to the joys of writer’s manuals and gifted me with my first Moleskine notebook upon graduation. She also taught me the fundamentals of rhetoric and editing, and worked alongside some fellow students and me as an advisor while we created a departmental e-zine and two annual writing competitions for English & Writing majors.

And I am thankful for Craig Wright who never allowed his students to use five words where one would suffice. Who taught me the difference between having a well-rounded vocabulary and flipping through a thesaurus. I am thankful for all the times he forced me to cut a story in half, then in half, and then in half again until I finally discovered that in order to write one must first have a story to tell.

I am thankful for these four individuals because they are the beginning of my story. It is through their efforts, their patience, and their guidance that my eyes were opened to see the first archway in my three-act play, and it is because of their encouragement that I had the faith to step through it.