Mundaz Wandering Thoughts
I was in the coffee shop — typing, revising, thinking, scrambling through the novel, noticing faults and fixing them. Progress was steady but heavy with challenge.
.Another customer approached my table. Regulars, she and I briefly spoke together a few times. Today she said, “Excuse me, but I love watching you at your table.”
Blinking, I gave her my attention.
She continued, “You become so deeply focused and oblivious to the rest of us, it just amazes me. I’m sorry to interrupt you but I really felt an itch to say something.”
I thanked her with a laugh. “Don’t worry. Interruptions can be helpful. Sometimes a little break is needed to help me think more clearly.”
We exchanged names, then she left the coffee shop, leaving me smiling.
Sometimes it feels good to be noticed as orders are called out, conversations rise and fall, and people come and go.
It feels…human.
Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts
The markers of familiarity intrigue me. I like to walk and friends and strangers comment on seeing me walking around town. People often mention they know me by my hat and its flair. My flair reveals my interests in writing, coffee, beer, the Steelers, and being retired military and living in Oregon.
On my end, I know several dogs who come into the coffee shop by name but I don’t know their owners’s names. People socialize differently with animals. The baristas and other customers often talk to the dogs by name. But even when people talk to the owners, names are rarely used, a facet of behavior which intrigues me.
Things are changing, though. This week, I learned that sweet Lenny’s owner is a retired sociology professor. Happy and social Sugar’s people are Thomas and Alice. Bear — who lives up to his name with his size but is a friendly, relaxed pup — belongs to Norm and Sarah. In this way, gaps are closing, and we’re all becoming friendlier and more open.
Today, Jessica didn’t know my name or regular coffee order. She did remember my Co-op number and knew that I was Brenda on that account. She and I enjoyed a good laugh about it.
Little interactions like all of these help enliven the coffee shop writing life for me.
Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts
The coffee shop is pretty damn full.
I’m in RoCo. It’s my new favorite coffee place, an old house converted to a business on the corner of 8th Avenue and East Main Street.
Every table is in use. Many regulars are in attendance. Like me, at a table, computer open. My eyes and ears are open even as I read, think, and type. Wonderful community and social energies swirl through the room like a strong, happy breeze. I love the noise and action, enjoy looking up at the faces, glancing at the fashion.
Most clients are, ahem, ‘my age’. They look like, ahem, boomers, like me. I’ll be seventy next year. I think I’m in the middle of the age spectrum here. Sure, there are so younger outliers. Teenagers who look like they’re wearing colorful fleece pajamas come in as pairs, order, take their stuff and leave. A few twenty-somethings, thirtyish, and fortyish folks are partaking of drink and food, chatting with others, reading, so forth. Hoka shoes are spotted on many, the shoes of my people. Columbia sportwear and Patagonia dominates. They’re the clothes of my tribe, but this is Oregon, where some of that stuff is produced, and where Columbia is headquartered, up north, west of Portland. Two children, about ten, are also present with an older woman. The children are on ice cream on this chilly, foggy, autumn day. The weather doesn’t daunt them from enjoying a cold but sweet treat.
The baristas take orders, prepare, and serve, all laughing and chatting as they do. Regulars come in and get greeted by name, including Sugar the dog, who waves their tail in happiness and await their standard treat.
Sunshine has burst through outside. Cold air storms me as the doors open and close. This is the United States, Oregon, Ashlandia, in 2025.
Fridaz Wandering Thoughts
Head down, I’m bulling through the story, editing to find the thread and resume my novel writing. I look up to see a man watching me. He delivers a sharp head nod. “Hello.”
I nod back. Smile.
He says, “You were on our flight last night.” He nods toward a blonde woman. Yes, I do recognize them now that they’ve revealed themselves.
“Yes,” I answer, trying to come into the moment.
They’re dressed in costumes. He is a plug. She’s a double outlet. I love it. They wish me happy Halloween and leave.
Then, ’bout an hour later…in come another man and woman.
“Hi,” she says, smiling, nodding. “You were on our flight last night.”
Shivers of deja vu had their way with me. It feels weird to be recognized and remembered like that, twice. I keep thinking, what did I do that made others notice? Drooling while I slept?
The Writing Moment
It goes well, satisfying, at the new (for me) coffee writing haunt. Actually, this is a return to this particular haunt, RoCo, which used to be formally known as Roasting Company. They’ve changed the inside tables, making better use of space. They’ve also changed their small parking lot into an additional outdoor seating area, with tables and chairs under black netting. It’s better than I’m describing it. Besides those two areas, seating is available on front and side porches. The side porch features a fire pit and makes it cozy. The place reeks with sociable, companionable, inviting vibes.
My third day back here last week, I noticed the woman beside me was editing a typed manuscript. She struck up conversation about the weather because I’d just come in and she was preparing to leave. It came out that she’s a local cozy mystery writer. Published her first last year and was working on her editor’s feedback for the second. We’ve exchanged names and greet one another regularly since. She introduced me to her husband, who directs the local Peace Choir. Several friends sing in it, and I’ve attended dozens of their concerts. Six degrees, you know?
Another time, as I was sitting and writing, I noticed several others basically doing the same on their laptops. Today featured a conversation beside me between a man and woman. They were discussing a curriculum for a theater class. Included topics that I overheard were screenwriting and directing. Sounds fun, I thought.
So RoCo has good writing vibes, IMO. I’ve written about forty pages since coming here, and edited more. What I thought was the novel’s end, wasn’t. And the coffee works for me. Staff is friendly and professional.
Think I’ll keep coming here, as long as they’re here and will have me.
Michael Seidel, writer 