Coffee Shops 1

Why do speakers complete sentences that begin with the words “it goes without saying”? If I may indulge in the same contradiction, I propose that, needless to say, not all coffee shops are alike. In this series of blogs, I will tell why six shops are my favorites, but I hasten to add that I love many more than six.

Lattes to Go at Java Johnny's in Middletown, Ohio

Java Johnny’s in Middletown, Ohio, heads my roster. In the copper ceiling ambience, my dear friend and co-author Eleanor Y. Stewart and I composed significant segments of the plot of our highly reviewed middle grade novel Maggie Quick. Eleanor and I walk five miles every other day, except when temperatures sink below 45 degrees Fahrenheit. When we are rained out, we often retire to Java Johnny’s for low-fat lattes. Sometimes, we add whipped cream to balance the low-fat milk. Our lattes are consistently delicious!

While gathering my thoughts about coffee shops, I asked myself if the flavor of the coffee is the sole criterion for determining my favorites, and I decided that a host of intangibles contributes to the experience. Here are a few in no particular order.

A steady stream of patrons keeps the door hinges from rusting. Does Java Johnny’s have plenty of customers? Yes, and the shop is large enough to handle constant orders without becoming crowded! We can check this item on our list.

The feeling stirred by the coffee and the surroundings is the same comfort inspired by slippers. Check! From the aroma of freshly brewed java, through the nicely spaced tables, to the pleasantly decorated copper of the ceiling, the shop wraps customers in contentment.

The baristas are friendly and knowledgeable. Check again! Whenever I enter the shop, I have complete confidence that everything will be up to the highest standard, thanks to the baristas. Never an obligation, leaving a tip is always an accolade.

Yes, Eleanor and I worked on our novel while sipping lattes. We thoroughly enjoyed the experience of writing Maggie Quick, set in an Irish–American town and featuring a girl guided by three women to discover who she is, so that she can rescue her village from evil forces before it is too late. Both Eleanor and I have Irish ancestors. Three fourths of my genetic characteristics are expressions of the British Isles, and Irish culture constantly leeched to the surface of my hometown. Eleanor and I relied on our background and experiences in forming our novel for middle grade readers. We wrote much of the dialog while walking, jotting it down after returning to Eleanor’s home. At Java Johnny’s, we tried out various trajectories that our plot might take. Without the shop, would Maggie Quick have been the same? Probably not!

So, Java Johnny’s, please accept our thanks! We will soon be back for lattes!              

Halloween

In the 1950s, when I was a child, relatively few facets of life were commercialized. Take Halloween, for example. Almost no parents in my hometown bought costumes for their children. Masks may have been purchased at a dime store, but parents helped their children to build their own costumes around the store-bought masks. Hoboes might wear jeans with holes at the knees and carry poles with bandanas of belongings tied at the ends. Cowboys might wear hats and holsters. In my family, wrapping in a plain white sheet was considered costume enough, even if the mask had nothing to do with the sheet.

Carving Jack-o'-Lanterns on Halloween in the 1950s

One Halloween, my mother was shopping in Lafayette when I noticed a plastic mask resembling a collie’s head. The plastic’s outer surface felt fuzzy to the touch. I politely asked my mother if I could have the mask for Halloween. What joy! She consented! That year, as I skipped along the sidewalks of Pine Village, I wore my white sheet and my dog mask with tremendous pride.

We kids designed our own trick-or-treat bags from the brown paper bags that came from the grocery stores, such as the IGAs in Attica or Oxford, Smitty’s in West Lafayette, Marsh’s in Lafayette, or the A&P in Lafayette. Jack-o'-lanterns in orange and black crayons were favorite motifs, as were witches, black cats, owls, skulls, ghosts, and moons.

My classmate Alan introduced me to a noisemaker. He cut notches in the edge of a wood spool, which rotated on the end of a stick. When he pulled a string wrapped around the spool, the notched edge made a startling noise against a window pane. Of course, I had to make one immediately!

My parents preferred that my brother and I visit the homes of relatives and family friends, rather than asking for candy at the doors of people less well known. Even with such restrictions, we came away with bags containing more than enough candy! Three Musketeers bars were my favorite, but there were treats more exciting than commercially available candies.

My grandmother and my great aunt made popcorn balls that were out-of-this-world delicious! They were enormous, to boot! It seemed you were eating a popcorn ball almost as large as your head! Years later, I tried making popcorn balls. They were not nearly as good. In the process, I came to wonder how my great aunt and grandmother avoided burning the tips of their fingers, for I surely did! As far as I can tell, there is no way to form popcorn balls without coming into contact with the hot syrup. Could my ancestors have worn gloves? I doubt that they did. At any rate, the homemade popcorn balls far outdistanced the candy bars in flavor.

I recall the delightful strangeness of trick-or-treating. In the darkness, it was difficult to see where the roots of the old trees had tilted the squares of concrete in the sidewalk leading to my grandmother’s house, and I would invariably trip on them. Clouds raced across the moon, sometimes hiding it altogether. In front of my great aunt’s house were bushes that thrashed about in the cold wind. I felt there could be ghouls lurking behind them. One year, Elwyn Gray’s barn had burned not long before Halloween. The structure still stood, but there were large gaps among the blackened boards. The eerie shell stood across the street from my grandmother’s house. I was ill at ease from the scent of burned wood and the moonlight flickering between the cracks in the sides as I hurried past.

Eleanor Y. Stewart and I included many of my Halloween memories in the opening chapter of our middle grade novel Maggie Quick. Those Halloweens that I experienced in a less commercialized era are now enshrined in a book that has earned top reviews!