Goodbye Coffee People

Once again I am the barer of ill tidings...Coffee People is dead.

The "No Back Talk", hippie coffee joint, whose roots began in the Eugene Saturday Market in the late 1970's has been bought by coffee giant Starbucks. It is indeed a sad day for coffee drinkers in Oregon. It is also a warning to coffee vendors everywhere...beware, Starbucks is coming.

Perhaps you feel that I have misstated the case. If so, read the following closely. In Sherwood, Oregon, not more than 2.5 years ago, there was a small coffee shop with truly GREAT coffee, a delicious menu, and a Barista that made you feel special.

Walking into "Coffee Ala Cart" was like strolling into the television sitcom, Cheers! You instantly felt at home and Dave, the owner, was quick to call out a greeting. It was a place where you could sit and enjoy the best cup of coffee in town while enjoying a fresh baked pastry, Coney dog, or gyros. The shop itself was seldom empty and you were always welcome to take part in the general hum of conversation; political, religious, or silly, Coffee Ala Cart had it all.

That is until their landlord decided to raise their rent. After a bit of digging, it was learned that Starbucks had not only moved in to Sherwood, they were moving everyone else out. So, Dave signed another years lease, paid his doubled rent, and didn't make a cent for a year. It was a matter of pride after all. How could one small coffee shop compete with the Giant of Over-Cooked coffee?

Starbucks has four locations in Sherwood. Yes, four. One in each of the giant grocery stores, one in the Target store and one single shop on the corner....across from where Coffee Ala Cart use to be.

At the end of Dave's years lease he received notice that his rent would double...again. Even Dave, with his giant heart, feisty temper and penguin mocha freeze, had to admit defeat. OnNew Years Eve 2004 Dave closed his doors. We miss you Dave.

With the sinking of Coffee People, I believe we are losing a little bit of Americana. Gone are the days when the little guy could say, "Gee, I'd like to try to roast my own coffee, maybe even open a little shop." Unless he plans on perching his shop in the middle of no where, he'll have to fight the giant and more often than not, Goliath will beat David.

I suppose I am getting a bit carried away. After all, I've spent more than my fair share of money at Starbucks. I have sat in their hard wooden chairs and debated life's greatest problems with my friends. In Starbucks, I've found a slice of peace and quiet when my life was crazy. Yet, somehow it doesn't seem to be enough now.

So farewell Coffee People; so long Black Tiger, Mind Freezes, and Jimbo's Hippie Cookies. You served a great cup of joe, never burnt, always tasty. You will be mourned.

Coffee People Coffeehouse
Born 1983 Died 2006
May He Rest in Peace

The Beginning

I started writing today. Yes, I know I write here much of the time, but I actually started writing a story. It may actually have chapters! The writing bug has been nipping at me a great deal lately. Part of it is due to the fact that I don't like working for other people. Having been my own boss, I much prefer my own company, time line, and work ethic, than anyone elses.

It may also be due to the fact that I have been published, yes even paid (if you call $25.00 for an essay paid!) and I think I may actually have something to say. Not that anyone else may want to listen, but that's okay, for now. I have a friend who got off her butt a few years back and started really chasing her dream of being a writer. Guess what? She's now a PAID and PUBLISHED writer with two books, a big time NY agent, and a monthly income.

She's been nipping at me for awhile too.

So, why is it so hard? Lack of motivation? Lack of material? Or Fear of Failure? All three? Am I just lazy? None of the above. Perhaps I really don't have the time...

I can come up with a million and one excuses, but that still leaves me with that writers bug nipping at me.

GRRRR! It's Monday

Monday

Even the word can sound foreboding at times. Monday means getting up and back to the daily grind. It brings with it a succession of days with long to do lists, usually someone else's. I suppose it isn't fair to pick on Monday. After all each of the other days will bring troubles of their own.

Today, however, is Monday, and thus far it has been pretty annoying.

I worked for the paper today. Too many idiots wanted to complain about the cost of their subscription. It does make me wonder if people actually know what the cost of a subscription is when they sign up to receive the paper. I mean really people, Monday or no, the paper costs money to be delivered to your house! Egad!

This Monday was also the first day back to school for the children. Mr J awoke with crabby written all over him, and strangely enough, even a shower could not rinse it off of him. Miss C, on the other hand, awoke rather cheerful. This gives documented proof that there surely must be something wrong with this Monday. For my children to switch personalities in this way is simply too odd.

Today was also the day that Mr B, my little bro (all 6 foot 3 of him!) received the summons and petitions from Tofu Girl concerning her suit for full custody of the Young Prince (born nearly a year ago this month). This being Monday, it somehow seems appropriate. Mr B is so in love with the Young Prince that he neither sleeps nor eats and his hatred toward Tofu Girl grows with a gnawing, tearing, passion, that may destroy him some day. It will probably happen on, you guessed it, a Monday.

Being that today is Monday, Old Grumpy (aka father-in-law) decided to plant his butt in our living room and yabber away, as soon as Dearest Hubby appeared home from work. Few things irritate me more than that. For you see, there isn't another woman in our marriage...there is another man. His name is Old Grumpy and he lives to make my life, and every other woman in this family, insane. I do not begrudge Old Grumpy time with Dearest Hubby, but he IS MY Dearest Hubby and thus I should be the only one he gets to talk to for the first half hour after he gets home from work...on Monday (or any other day for that matter).

Which of course leads me to Dearest Hubby, who was tired and irritated after a long day at work. As usual, after a MONDAY, he only wants to crawl into his chair and listen to whichever LP strikes his fancy (yes, LP, as in vinyl - he's going through a stage right now and I have high hopes that this too shall pass). The man wants a sympathetic ear and good long back rub (and maybe a piece of pie). Sadly, it is Monday and I have neither sympathy or pie. Dearest Hubby is treading upon unsafe territory. Much as the American Revolutionaries who lost the Battle of Brandywine to the British in 1777...on this day!

Dinner, on an Autumn Monday night, is always early and usually a bit rushed. Tonight was spaghetti and I hate spaghetti (yes, I am aware that I am the moron who MADE the spaghetti, but that is beside the point!). We always eat early, not because of Monday night football, but because of BSF. Yes, tonight begins the first of many BSF nights.

Wait...That's a good thing! Monday nights means my little family and Old Grumpy load up and leave the house for THREE HOURS AND EIGHTEEN MINUTES! Leaving me and Dingo (the cat) alone with the computer, the television, and the silence.

I love Monday!

Don't you?

Piano Music for Two

Three years ago our Miss C began piano lessons. It took awhile but MAN CAN SHE PLAY! I love to listen to her. There is one song that simply makes me sigh. It is called, "My Father's Favorite", but we have dubbed it, "My Mothers Favorite". Miss C is becoming accomplished. Wow!

Today, our Mr J begins his piano lessons. Yes, he's a bit long in the tooth at 16 to be just beginning, but he wants to try. He plays the guitar and will continue to study that too. I'm starting to wonder if we are becoming one of those over-achiever type home school families...

NAH!

That could never happen to us. I am far to laid back to over achieve at anything. In fact I have a story that proves it could never happen to us. I had a Martha Stewart acquaintance ask me once if I noticed anything wrong with the curtains she had just made. I really couldn't see a thing wrong, but I knew there was something askew or she wouldn't have asked me.

It was a trap, of course I knew that, but I already had my foot on the trigger and if I could simply find one flaw I would be able to walk away with my foot and dignity in one piece. So (and to this day I don't know why I said this), I commented on the fact that the window treatment didn't match her bed set.

SNAP! The trap closed and I found myself clenched in the strong arms of perfection!

In her superior, sarcastic way, she coldly replied that there was a 1/2 inch difference between the two curtains and she simply wanted to see if anyone would notice...

After I finished serving my jail term for man slaughter, I resumed homeschooling my children and never visited Mrs "I wanna be just like Martha Stewart" house again.

Just because a kid plays two musical instruments does not mean that they are over-achievers. It simply means that his parents found affordable instructors (one's free!) and having nothing better to do than to drive their children around to lessons.

I could careless about perfection. A house should be lived in, not spotless, or filthy. Children should be free to explore new possibilities, without worrying about what others might think. If you sew curtains and they are 1/2 an inch shorter on one side seam than the other, you shouldn't set someone up to see if they can tell the difference! Holy Cow!

Hi ho, Hi ho, it's off to piano lessons we go!

Live Your Life!

Ahh, the news. We Americans are addicted to it! We subscribe to the paper, visit CNN several times per day, and turn the lights out each night with the evening news still bouncing around our brains.

Sometimes a news story shocks us back to reality.


The tragic death of Steve Irwin has left many feeling a great loss. I believe he may have been a very great man. He lived life, really lived it! I feel horrible for his wife and young children, but I feel dreadful when I consider that Steve may not have been ready to meet his maker. That really saddens me.



Most of the time though, I find the news annoying. Such as the story about Gwen Stephani's new line of dollies for little girls. Yeah, that's really important! Just what every little girl needs, NOT!

Then there is the disturbing story about fingerprinting children.

In the little town of Rome Georgia, also known as, The Enchanted Land, students are now allowed to access their lunch money via their finger print. Yep, that's right, no more brain aneurysm for 8 year old Susie who cannot remember her pin number. Little Marcus and Little Peggy Mae need only to slip their tiny finger onto the scanner and whoosh it's lunch time (or breakfast time, but that's another rant!).

Am I the only one who is astonished that a child who SHOULD BE MEMORIZING multiplication facts, cannot memorize a four digit number? Do these delightful, empty-headed adults realize that they are underestimating an entire generation of children? Talk about the dumbing down of America!

Read it for yourself:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/14678017/

For those royal watchers (honey, you really should get a hobby!) we have the birth of Japan's heir. The young prince will save Japan from stepping into the 21 century. For you see, only men are allowed to sit upon the royal throne in Japan. While I send a warm congratulations to Princess Kiko, upon the occasion of her sons birth, I think it's too bad that her daughter's won't have a shot at the throne.

But honestly what does any of this have to do with ME? With any of us? In our little world of toil, what do these breaking news flashes

have to do with life in the semi-mediocre life of middle and lower class America? Aside from the tragic death of one the most influential and amusing environmentalist of our time, everything else is dribble.

Pop stars maintain their stardom by staying in the news. Just ask Brittany what's-her-name. Big brother will continue to monitor and harass mankind as long as mankind exists and women, well, we women will shout for a freedom that we have within our grasps, but do not (can not, will not) fully use.

OUCH!

The news is the news, nothing new nothing old, nothing borrowed, and everything blue. If the only thing you do every day is watch in awed rapture as the sorrow, pain, and strife of mankind unfolds on the evening news, than maybe it's time to read a book or take a walk or actually sit down and talk to someone.

Talk to a stranger at Starbucks or join the library reading group. Play scrabble with the kiddies or makeout in the back seat of your car with that dorky, wonderful guy you've been married to for the past hundred years.

LIVE your life. I think if Steve Irwin had to do it all over again, I'm not sure he'd change much. I believe people like Steve Irwin know something that many of us have forgotten and it is simply this:

"And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years." - Abraham Lincoln

She's 14 Today

Here she is! Isn't she lovely? This is my baby, my little girl, my blondie. Miss C is 14-years-old today. Where did the time go?

I distinctly remember her screaming infanthood, her clingy toddler years, and the years when her indignant screams could make your blood run cold. Yet, here she is! A beautiful young woman full of the promise of the future.

She loves Astronomy and her trampoline. Her piano playing is nothing short of amazing! Miss C has brought a special bit of sunshine to our lives and I am so happy she is my daughter.

When I think about her, I am astonished at the depth of her character and her generosity. At 14 I was still an idiot, simply chasing after boys and longing to get away from my mother! Miss C, on the other hand, isn't boy crazy and still like to join her ol' mom for coffee on Saturday mornings.

I know that there will be times in the future when we will not see eye to eye and yes there may be times when she won't like me very much. But that's okay. I know that with each passing year she and I are becoming friends and I look forward to the day when I not only call her daughter, but dear friend.

Happy birthday blondie!