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!              

Why I Planted Tiger Lilies

When I was growing up, my family always drove to Fowler, Indiana, to see the fireworks on the Fourth of July. In the deepening dusk, anticipation grew until the crowd spotted the bobbing pink lights that were the wands the firemen used to ignite the rockets. A cheer went up, and, almost as quickly, so did the opening mortars with a whoosh soon followed by an explosion of vibrant colors.

I connect the spectacular bursts in the night sky with several “firsts” for me. At a very young age, I tasted my first cotton candy at the Fowler fireworks display. Later, I enjoyed my first coffee there. While I have not eaten cotton candy in many, many years, I am sipping a cup of coffee while I type this sentence.

I may have been in seventh grade when I was permitted to drink coffee. My father, mother, brother, and I were awaiting the fireworks. My father poured a cup of coffee from a thermos and handed the cup to my mother, who said, “Are you going to let Robert taste yours?”

“I don’t know. Am I?” my father asked.

“I think he’s old enough,” my mother observed.

My brother, a few years older than I, was already drinking coffee. My father poured a small amount into what was to be his cup and handed it to me. After I blew and blew on the coffee to cool it, I tried it. I loved the nutty flavor! I was hooked from that day forward, but, at first, I was permitted only the occasional cup.  

My Father's Tiger Lilies

I also connect fireworks with tiger lilies, which were my father’s favorite flowers. I think he conferred upon tiger lilies the special status of being his chosen blossoms because they were always in full bloom during his birthday in the third week of July.

The flamboyant lilies seem an incongruous choice of flower for my father, who was soft-spoken, mild, and gentle. I saw him lose his temper only once. It was when a sow broke through a barn door and escaped in the meadow. My father had gone to a lot of trouble to herd the pig into the stall, and, as he knew all too well, making a second attempt to coax the sow into the barn would be an exercise in futility. My father was unaware that I witnessed his anger. He thought he was alone, but I was hiding so as to surprise him when he walked past. Had I not observed his tantrum, I would tell you that he never lost his temper, and I really believe that he almost never did.

My Father Filling the Tank of the Farmall Tractor

Even though tiger lilies are loud and brassy, they are refined, and it is in their refinement that they share a characteristic with my father. A Valedictorian at a time long before any dumbing down of education, my father was intelligent, knowledgeable, and well spoken. He could compose and deliver a speech better than anyone, and such refinement finds an analogy in the tall stalks, exact leaves, and branching flowers of tiger lilies.

Tiger Lilies in Bright Sunlight

If you will make it a point to view such lilies after sundown on an endlessly mellow July evening—and if you will squint—you can imagine the flowers and the unopened buds as the pyrotechnic bursts and streaks of light from fireworks in the night sky.

Tiger Lilies Reminiscent of Fireworks

When my father passed away, a friend urged me to transplant at my home a clump of Dad’s cherished lilies. I did so, and, dependably, they have reached their fullest bloom during the week of my father’s birthday. They serve as a brilliant reminder of his life.