Every Community Has Its Watering Hole

Coffee in hand and text book in front of me, I engage not in the floating aromas of my hot beverage or in the dull arguments of the required text but in the faces that flux in and out of doors each retreating inside for a cup of momentary “pick-me-up” and receding back outside attempting to absorb as many rays of the untouchable gold pouring out of the patchy blue skies as they can on these growing northwest days. Spring is on its way.

Two generations as far away from each other physically as they are experientially sit outside beyond the windows observing the same scene, sitting in the same sun, chilled by the same breeze. Both steal glimpses of one another: the old pondering at the unassuming naivety of the youth and the youth wondering at the hard and determined features of the old. Remembering the past… dreading the future—desiring each others experiences, in a world that values little from those not within the 30/50 window…

Shuffling through the door comes now a couple who have seen life in all its facets and have survived to share a cup of coffee and small moments of conversation. No need to ruin 60 years of dedication with small and trivial conversation. I hear the crouched old man endearingly refer to the woman as “Ruth”. A fitting name for such a poised woman who has more than likely seen her share of troubles, but found herself, legs crossed lady like in front of her, peering out the large windows, letting the soundtrack of her generation float over her.

The old man scoots past me on his way out. I jump to my feet to honor this man by holding open a door he once held open for his beloved Ruth by the chivalry engrained within him. But now reminded of time passed he smiles at me with a smile that no doubt melted many before me... “I have trouble with doors” The old man stated as he leaned on his cumbersome walker. “They’re only trouble if you ask me.” I replied “They are meant to keep out the cold, but instead they just slow us down!”… I tried… the smile says more to me than any other gesture… talk is cheap.

“Double-tall, fat free, extra hot, caramel latte for here!” I’m shaken from my illustrated timeline by baristas pumping out a fresh rush of ordered drinks to our caffeine-crazed city… I resist the urge to sit for hours and rise to collect my things to head home, I’ve gotten too distracted here -- there is much to be accomplished today. I move outside and bend down to pat the head of a golden retriever eagerly waiting for his caffeinated best friend to return for the remainder of their jaunt around town. He welcomes all distraction that will keep his one-track mind from remembering that his walk has been interrupted. I move towards my car, the sounds of the community watering hole, the central meeting place, receding behind me… The place of convergence of generations and of stories.