I have not eaten at the Golden Arches in decades--well, except for the time I got an Egg McMuffin craving a couple of years ago. I also haven't been drinking coffee on weekdays for the past many weeks. I lost my travel mug; then I just got tired of taking time to make it with the time-hog French press; then I got the Kona Beans-of-the-Week at Fresh Market, and didn't like it. Now, understand that I am a coffee snob. I don't drink Folgers and I don't drink coffee from large metal pots. But I once saw a "We serve Seattle's Best" sign in the window of the McDonald's I pass on my way to work. Wednesday morning I head for work earlier than my usual early, and I really want to enjoy a cup of java at my desk in the solitude before the rest of staff arrives. And I don't want to pay $3.62 for it at the over-roasted Starbucks I also pass. What the heck, I think, for a buck it's worth a try. Can they really mess up SB coffee?
For a person who likes rearranging furniture and moving to new dwellings and planting new things in the garden and adventure in general, I do like my favorite things. And I don't like it when they disappear from view.
My old weekend journaling place was the Bear Rock Cafe, first the one in Cary's Saltbox Village, and later the one at Crossroads. After I moved, it was too far to drive, so I switched to Cafe Carolina. But I still miss the fireplace, the fake rustic ambiance, and the ability to hide in a corner at Bear Rock. It pops into my head once in a while, and my thoughts wax sentimental. I find myself at the shopping center yesterday, and needing lunch. I decide to indulge my nostalgia at BR. I drive up. "Yopops," the sign over the door announces.
Things die. New things take their place. Piling up, one on top of another. The sunrise is beautiful, and fleeting. The dragon fly and its shadow paints a picture on a stone in the garden, then flits off. Everything leaves, making room for the next thing waiting in line to take its place. Even the Seattle's Best Coffee logo has changed (not for the Best, in my opinion). Always. Moving. Forward. I want my scone back. I guess I will dig out my recipe. Or maybe it's a sign; time for a new adventure for me. And I think I will write Freddie a hand-written note tomorrow to exchange for the coffee and smile he hands me.
“Life’s irrefutable forward motion...I was raking leaves one day when I felt such a vast chasm of what was gone that I had to stop and sit down...All this raw material, from new shoots to compost in what seemed a single breath…. I was raking dead leaves in the shelter of my garden while the bulbs, patient and thoughtless, waited to be planted. It seemed obscene.... How to live in a world where loss, some of it unbearable, is as common as dust or moonlight.” (Gail Caldwell, Let’s Take the Long Way Home)
5 years ago