Coffee to Go

Georgian construction.  Outside, one of many similar-looking conjoined sets of conjoined sets of twins.  Little to distinguish one house from another in the row, a planter filled with flowers, a miniature hedge of boxwood. The insides are distinct, their colors, shapes, and textures.  Enter at the front.  Flat walls with ornamentation, shaped from plaster, not wood like in modern buildings or marble as in old.  Pastel colors; light light-blues, greys, greens and purples.  Wide, wood stairs with wooden balustrades.  Sometimes marble, vast, expansive, open.  Always, open and welcoming, a type of freedom.  When enclosed, the distinct European smell of varnish and cigarette smoke, sweet and tangy, permeates the stairwell.  There…

In front of the shop there are stands that contain more fruits, more vegetables, and more flowers than they can sell inside, their long and skinny space.  The stands outside are wooden boxes on frames, tilted at just the right angle so the passerby can better see what’s on offer, the wide display of colors and textures, and yet not allow the display to tumble down, out of the stand, onto the ground. Too many choices for a simple picnic along the river, the mighty flowing river that, tonight, ambles and meanders.  Strawberries, soft, warm, and melting, to place on top of the white, gooey camembert that is spread over…

She sits outside the bistro.  Packages lay on the ground, near her feet.  One hand resting on the napkin across her lap, the other holding the menu she reads, the menu she dreams.  A glass of water, fork and knife lay before her, waiting.  For her meal.  For her partner to join her. She is thinking about her day, the visits in shops, looking for just the right top to go with that cute skirt she bought.  Scents of candles and perfumes wafting through the doors as she passed.  Welcomed into épiceries and boulangeries where temptations surrounded her, teasing her, cajoling her. Now, she waits.  Delighting in the thoughts of the meal she…

It is snowing.  It is the fourth day of spring and snow is falling.  Constant.  Steadfast. Flakes fall outside the window; I am looking into a snow-globe-world that has been upended. It has been too warm recently for the snow to stick to the walks but the grass accepts it, welcomes it, and rests under it, comforted.  The early flowers of spring, the appropriately named snowdrops and the purple, gold, and white croci – a name I enjoy almost as much as the flower – will wait and, once the snow has melted, will resume blooming, unfazed. Not unusual, this inversion of seasons at the northern 42nd parallel. And, normally,…

It has been nearly one year since I last traveled.  Things that I need to do, have to do, am compelled to do, have overwhelmed my ability to find the time and space for what I want to do.  Namely, I have not been able to travel.  Life, family, work have all been too important and too overwhelming for me to break away. Even though I am still in the middle of being unable to pack my bags and go, events beyond my control have made my desire to travel virtually impossible.  A virus has closed borders, modes of transit, schools and, now, restaurants, creating communities of quarantine even where…

Nostalgia. Pondering the impact that the senses have on evoking memories. Old batteries smelling of childhood; a story told to me by someone else but one that resonates with me and I envision my own memories associated with the smells of games and crafts and zoos. “I Melt With You” plays on Pandora and I am 16 again, driving with friends, singing along to the words. Wrongly, probably, in the days before correct lyrics were only a click away. Fulton Market has long been one of my favorite parts of the city. Urban, industrial, and constantly moving, I always feel energized when I am here. It is my go-to for…

When I was in college, getting ready to spend my junior year abroad, I consulted with my friend Tobin who had spent the year before at St. Andrew’s University in Scotland. He advised me to get a backpack with an internal frame and a small bag to carry my stuff. Further, this was all I should bring. I had NO idea what he meant. I set off for Denmark and, later, Belgium with a satchel that was too big, an extra-large duffle bag, and a large suitcase designed during a time before rolling wheels on suitcases were standard. I thought I’d gotten pretty close and my luggage choice was fine…

My father collects elephants. On top of the bookcases in his living room is a row of carved elephants marching, in single-file. I was nine when he bought the first elephant that I remember. It is a large, teak statue and it is still a piece of beauty. I remember listening to him discuss it with my mom in the Field Museum’s gift shop and, then, riding home with it in the back seat of our gold station wagon, excited about our first major art purchase. Since then, I have always associated elephants with my dad. They are intelligent and strong, characteristics which I assumed resonated with him and led…