I am sipping rose petal tea lemonade waiting for a friend to arrive at my favorite coffee house. I’m in Saturday mode: I’ve walked two miles, got a large load of laundry into the dryer, cleaned the kitchen, and started organizing things in the basement that have been in disarray since my last painting project.
I soaked in the fresh air and sunshine as I drove across downtown with the top down. This is a day I could have pulled the bicycle out of the garage.
But here I am, in the acoustically raucous Crema. The barristas call out over the machinery and some people are talking at their tables. Others have ear buds and laptops. The chairs out front are filled.
I like coffee houses because they are so clearly about time to think, to talk, to hang out, to read…to study and to meet.
They serve good coffee, although that’s lost on me, a tea drinker gone off caffeine. Still I like the smell of coffee and the bean roasting and grinding. It is a warm social ritual.
I’m meeting a friend who is an instructional coach and librarian who wants to talk about livening up writing in here school. This will be interesting. I have rehearsed one thing, to avoid going into my spiel from years of working this very topic in many school settings.
First I am going to research. I’m going to ask questions. I want to know how the teachers feel about writing? What they do for reading? Why writing? What is the strongest value in your school?
I like coffee houses. I think my friend is here.