Before I went to Rome someone told me that in the additional comments on the Roommate Request Form if wrote “A room with a view”, something might become of that.
They were right.
They say that on a clear day you can see the top of St. Peter’s Basilica.
I’d like to take a minute to capture my current awe at how absolutely wonderful I feel like I am being treated here and how, strangely enough, we are only experiencing what seems to be a standard of Italian culture.
The food served in the Mensa is cooked by a loving Italian couple and is absolutely delicious- all sorts of pan, pasta, meat and vegetables. I’ve only been here a week and have already been treated to two of some of the finest standard Italian 5 course meals and authentic Italian wine. And the coffee… anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely love coffee, and let me tell you, this is good stuff… dare I say it challenges Costa Rican cafe?
Our campus is on a working vineyard and has a small section of olive trees in the back. Unfortunately the grapes don’t bloom until the Fall, but it’s still a nice place to run. I can hear roosters crow, birds chirping, and dogs gossiping. There is a well recently excavated that dates back about 2,000 years. Rumors say it could be the one that Peter and Paul met at as they traveled through Rome.
As I sit here and write this, I silently gaze out the wide open window as the breeze pushes itself through the frame every now and then. It’s nice. I feel good.
Welcome to Due Santi.
Midwest City, Oklahoma
There is a part of me that believes that everyone has a sort of unacquainted love for coffee shops, and I’m not going to claim that I’m one of only a few who is so encompassed by the fresh, exotic coffee, easy music, local artwork, a wealth of books, and soft, old couches. Our human person can’t help but be at least a little drawn towards it.
I suppose I’m just one who takes that and runs with it.
Underground Coffee is maybe 2 minutes from my house, which makes it the perfect… place. The Underground has become my thinking place, my resting place, my homework, frantic-essay writing place, my catching-up-with-old-friends place and, ultimately, my place. With inexpensive coffee and an abundance of very exceptional house specials, there is always something new to try, though my go-to is simple: a regular 12-oz coffee with coconut (It’s a Tica thing).
Though there are countless numbers of coffee shops here in Dallas, there will always be days when my heart longs for the familiar feel of the Underground and it’s breathe-easy, everything-is-going-to-be-alright atmosphere. I am capable of giving Underground Coffee such an strong and gentle place in my heart because it is here that good conversations, honest thoughts, and real feelings have taken a hold of me and those whom I’m surrounded with. I’m sure you have those places for you too. Think about it. What does it look like? What does it smell like? Do you sit; do you stand? Who are you with? Do you write; do you pray; do you think; do you talk? What is it, exactly, about this place that makes it so unique, so special, so yours?
I’d love to meet you there.
Well, it is quite a feat to say that I have finally arrived here. I took the DART for the first time in a long time and while that in itself wasn’t an issue, the wind that made me victim of unnecessary hair torment. That is okay, though. There are more important things to worry about.
The barista at the counter has a crazy weird Chicago accent and wears bright red glasses that somehow fit his assertive yet caring personality. He goes in and out of the wide black door with the magician’s purple curtain to go to and from the inside of the counter/kitchen to the rest of the restaurant. Conversations are blunt:
“How’s your Americano?”
“Good, it’s delicious.”
“Good, I’m glad you like it. Hey you, over there, how are you?”
“I’m checkin’ on you. How you doing?”
I can hear the rhhhuuummmmm of the DART just outside the widows as it takes off and goes every so often once again.
The music here is much more upbeat than your typical quaint coffee shop; distinct 50’s and 80’s sounds fall out of the speakers. Serj Books does nothing less than make a statement. But, what else can you do in the middle of Downtown Dallas? The walls are crafted with wooden brick and the tables have a royal purple cloths draped over the surface. Books on display are scattered on shelves along the walls, and all bear strange names and unusual covers. They make me want to both pick them up and flip through the pages and shout out to all those in the small shop, “WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS MEANS?!”
I could have a lot of fun here. That’s the thing about Serj, though: It is not exactly what one would call a good study space. Instead, it’s a place for being with people, philosophizing, discussing all things good and bad about your day while doing an occasional jig to the music that floats in the air. It’s a place for listening, for speaking, and for telling jokes. Laughing is encouraged. Using WiFi to isolate yourself from the rest of the world is not. The barista smugly tells his very lame and wonderful joke as you order. I’ve been sitting here for healthy chunk of time and let me tell you, he tells it with the same gusto for every single customer.
Where do animals go when their tails fall off?
The retail store.
I picked up a little collection of writings on display as I waited for my Something With Cream at Java Me Up, the coffee shop I had searched so long for. Grub Street Grackle, it read. The Grackle is Dead. Long Live the Grackle! There was a light coffee stain on the front of the paper cover on the small, handcrafted booklet. I opened it up and flipped to a page about miniature black holes- according to the entry, a patent was filed in Japan on a “Personal-Sized-Black-Hole-Powered Light Reduction Apparatus.” Drawn into the passage, I didn’t even hear the barista come up behind me and set my Something With Cream on the table beside the book.
“Are you ready for this?” She smiled as she took the paper wrapper off the tip of the green straw in my Something. “It’s pretty unique…”
“What is it?” I laughed and took a sip of the mystery drink. Ha! It was spectacular.
“It’s French Toast.”
This place knew how to please me, that’s for sure. “It actually tastes like french toast!”
“Yup,” the barista smiled, clearly proud of her creation, as she went to attend to other customers. “It sure does.”
So now there’s a week until finals and I’ve managed to find myself lounging on a worn, greenish-yellow chair surrounded by magazines, tea, and local artwork in the corner of a little coffee shop right next to the neighborhood library as I’m drinking the one-and-only French Toast Cappuccino. I’m an hour and 16 minutes (give or take) away from the school and $14 shorter (couldn’t leave the Grub Street Grackle behind). My essay remains unwritten, my math problems uncalculated, and my laundry unwashed. But sometimes you just gotta get out and explore, you know? Take chances, even if all that chance is is finding your way to that coffee shop you’ve been thinking about for days and leaving your drink in the hands of the barista who would love nothing more than to create something “interesting” and “new”. Sometimes a little spice to your day is all you really need to keep going.
I went out with no plan and took 3 hours on bike, bus, and train to end up at a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop to order a Something With Cream and be presented with a French Toast frappuccino and immerse myself in some of the most bizarre literary pieces I’ve ever read.
Welcome to the first of my coffee shop adventures. Brace yourself, this is gonna be good.
Until the next time,
Welcome to my blog.
Those are pretty big words for someone who hasn’t even created so much as an Instagram and tries to stay off the black hole of the internet as much as possible. But, none the less, after years of relentless brainstorming, stomach knots of excitement, and probably a few too many cups of coffee, I find myself on the brink of publishing the 6th blog I’ve attempted with the unsettling feeling that maybe, just maybe, this will be the one that actually does…something.
But we’ve all been through something like this, right? All of us have undoubtedly felt that profound sense of inspiration, the energy surge through us as if we had the power to take on the world, only to run into the face of the wall that our thoughts, our emotions, are simply too much. It is times like these that we find ourselves stuffed between the cushions watching re-runs on Netflix, munching on whatever happens to look good in the pantry, addicted to the glow of a screen, finding home within the oddities of Tumblr, hearing only the slow metronome of our hearts.
I don’t want to be overwhelmed to the point of paralysis anymore. We are thoughtful creatures, designed for invitation and critical thinking, problem solving, building and fostering relationships, creating, exploring, living. Anything less and we find ourselves unfilled at the most basic level and restless in the deepest parts of our bones. These posts are the excerpts of myself that are my most basic attempt to harness some of that energy and put it somewhere else other than the fog that is my brain. Some will be messy, incomplete, others will stem directly from prayer, some will be creative, and others undoubtedly unsatisfying at times. Some will be exciting and others will seem to drag on. That doesn’t bother me, though. Those are all very real pieces of who I am in my small attempt to make a small difference in a small way.
Welcome, world, these ideas come directly from you.