Coffee Love

I love coffee.

This hasn’t always been the case. My parents didn’t really drink it, and so for years I thought it was an old person’s drink, as my grandparents were the only people I knew who drank it religiously. I don’t really remember being interested in coffee until Starbucks came to my town, and suddenly coffee was cool with college-aged kids, which I also was. Now I drink hot coffee all year round, even today in my sweltering office where the air conditioning was not working. I do like the taste, but it’s also about the ritual. A cup of coffee early in the morning brings to life a host of memories, motivations, and dreams throughout my life, and it is those, more than the caffeine, which make coffee a joy and helps me wake up to my life.

Here are a few of those precious things that coffee helps me hold.

Betty and Melanie Coffee

My parents’ best friends Betty and Melanie take credit for making me like coffee. They were second moms to me, and they truly loved coffee, especially flavored coffees and coffee shops. My parents never even made coffee except when Betty and Melanie were there, and I loved the deceptive scent of coffee brewing that did not translate to the way it tasted to me as a child. I don’t remember exactly when they got me to try coffee and to like it, but it makes sense that they did, and that even now I really prefer coffee black, the way they drink it. When I visit them, I love the way they delight in making morning coffee for me and the way they choose the flavors. I always love a coffee shop with them. I always love them.

Denny’s Coffee

The first time I actually remember liking coffee was with my college roommate, Sarah. We went to Denny’s one late night to study, and we ordered coffee and cheese fries and stayed for hours, laughing and talking and working a little. It became a tradition for us, sometimes multiple nights a week at Denny’s. I’ve never found any other cheese fries quite as delicious as the ones we shared, and for years, their coffee was my favorite. Sometimes I put in two creams, like Sarah, but my preferences were really already formed–I definitely liked it black. Coffee nights were where we got a lot of productive studying done, but they were more about the laughter and the inside jokes, and the hard conversations we had that cemented our friendship through the end of college. I wish I could remember the last trip we took to Denny’s together. I wish the friendship had lasted. I miss her more than I can say.

Church Coffee

When we finally chose a church after we got married, we chose the biggest one in town. Joe hated it at first–the buses that ran between the parking lot and the church, the video screens everywhere, the three levels of stadium-style seats that felt like being at a concert. But he actually started to feel better about it when we started participating in small groups.

I was in two groups–the couples group with Joe which gave us some of our closest friends in this new town, and another group of mostly girls that I joined with my best friend. It met at a Starbucks near my favorite mall and seemed like a good idea for two reasons: it ensured Beth and I could get together every week (no easy thing when she was busy with grad school and I was busy teaching), and it met at Starbucks, which ensured I got a fancy coffee every week. Win-win.

But I really, really loved the women in this group. The core group was Sara, Michele, Amy, Beth, and me, with a few other really nice people who came and went. We studied a book of the Bible, drank coffee, and shared our lives every Wednesday night. I looked forward to going and to listening, learning, and laughing. Beth and I drove together almost every week, and we tried new drinks and tested our thoughts about Scripture. After I left town, I stayed in touch with Beth and Sara, but lost track of the others. I almost never go to that Starbucks now when I’m back, but whenever I pass it, I always think of those coffee-scented nights and the five of us opening our hearts and lives to each other in a way I have never been able to replicate since.

School Coffee

I wasn’t a morning person until I had kids. I used to drink a giant Diet Mountain Dew or Diet Coke to start my day in the classroom, and it was sometimes hard to give my best self when I arrived at school because I didn’t really even want people looking at me until around 10:00. I think it must have been after I had kids and lived for those early years in a sleep-deprived state that I started making coffee in the mornings. As I worked with students in first period, I would sip my still-steaming cup, and everything suddenly just looked better. First period became delightful with a cup of coffee in my hand, and I became a person I wanted to be around. I had liked coffee for years, but it’s probable that this is when I joined the throng who believes that coffee is really a magical elixir.

Vacation Coffee

I’m downtown Chicago with my sister Kristi, on our first ever girls’ trip. We drove to the city yesterday and are up super early to take the train downtown and see everything, starting with the Flamingo, a sculpture that my flamingo-loving sister wants to see. We follow maps and search for signs and find nothing as the summer heat rises. Then we stumble on a bright red sculpture bent in a huge loop over the ground, and we feel completely cheated as we discover that this big loop is somehow supposed to be the flamingo we’ve spent ages hunting. Hot and still in disbelief, we duck into a Starbucks on a corner and order frappuccinos, our spirits lifting as we drink and breathe in the air conditioning. I take a picture of our cups on the table, our names misspelled, before we head back out into this really pretty perfect day.

I’m downtown again, years later, this time with my family. My daughter is falling head-over-heels in love with Chicago, the biggest city she’s ever visited. We head for the Bean, and I spy the same Starbucks Kristi and I visited before. It’s again early in the morning, and the hotel coffee was garbage. I stop for a hot white mocha, which I carry all over downtown, relaxing into its comfort and deliciousness. It makes me feel like home, and I love Chicago, and our trip, and the long walks ahead of us. I hold onto that cup and to all that love.

Dreaming Coffee

When Sherrie and I want to get together to catch up on life and talk about writing, we almost always do it at Barnes and Noble. We sit in the cafe with coffee, and we dream for the future. We plan PDs we’d like to present, and we brainstorm ideas for the writing retreat we’ve wanted to host for years. We stack dream on dream, and we put plans on paper, taking tiny steps toward each one. Then we talk about the writing we’re doing and the writing we’d like to be doing, and only when the coffee and the conversation have wound down do we go and look at books and magazines. Our friendship started years ago when we were both in the Writing Project together, and it has continued over countless books, hundreds of pages of writing, PDs we’ve planned and presented, and endless cups of coffee. I’m grateful for all of it.

Church Coffee Again

I’m sitting in church on Sunday morning. We’re new to this place, and it’s a contemporary service, with rows of soft chairs facing a stage. As usual, I don’t see anyone I know. Last week, the music was so loud that I embarrassed my daughter by putting my fingers in my ears, because I am apparently that kind of ancient person now. I miss my old church and how at home I felt. I miss all the people I knew and loved; I even miss the ones I didn’t like very well. Maybe I don’t want to be here after all.

Then my husband appears beside me with a cup of coffee. He hands it to me and slides into his seat beside our daughter. I smile at him, and then I smile at the cup in my hand. It’s hot, and the steam wafting out smells delicious. I take a sip and smile again.

The band belts out the first notes, and everyone stands. I do too, and I take another sip. The music doesn’t sound so loud this week. I turn to smile at my daughter, and I see a woman slip into the next row beside her family. I know those people! They’re from our old church. This woman taught my daughter’s Sunday school class years ago. At greeting time, they come over, all of us excited to see each other. I turn around and say hello to the people behind me too.

I let out a deep breath.

Sometimes coffee is a comfort. Sometimes it releases my memories. But sometimes it’s an act of bravery, holding me in place when I’d rather go, opening me to whatever is coming next.

Middle Grade Love

Summer Reflection