Coffee at JJ's - The Book
All right, I'll do it. By popular demand, I am placing "Coffee at JJ's" on my blog in its entirety. Here it is.
Just look at them: sitting there in the early morning sun, one man with both hands jammed into a windbreaker; another with arms folded across his chest; two men arguing heatedly while yet another hides behind his newspaper, ignoring everyone. This man idly scans the sky for clouds as that man sits hunched over his coffee, carefully protecting it with both hands.
This particular day in early April with the air as fresh and crisp as Southern California mornings are legally permitted to be, the sky is a clear cerulean. The merest hint of gray shelters the San Gabriel Mountains to the north.
All is as it should be at that hour: quiet and calm yet energetic with the energy of early morning drivers speeding to work, dropping off children at school … or meeting a lover.
As a group, the men at JJ's look distinctly pleased with their situation. Most appear to be in their late sixties or early seventies, but one or two might be past eighty. I recall a gift someone gave me three years earlier for my sixty-fifth birthday: a blue ribbon that proudly proclaimed I was Older Than Dirt!
Well, yes, that's me. I am roughly the same age as the men who sit there gazing at whatever is in front of them. And today what's in front of them is me.
I hasten across the small parking lot toward JJ's. I have just enough time to buy a donut, which I can eat on the way to my office. With luck, traffic will be moderate.
If no tanker has overturned spewing thousands of gallons of toxic orange juice onto the freeway, if no early-morning motorcyclist has hit an unseen oil slick, if no hideous ten-car pileup has occurred (with hair, teeth and eyeballs splattered all over the road), I just might reach my office safely and on time. Yet there they sit, those coffee drinkers, almost Buddha-like in their philosophic tranquility.
God, how I envy them.
"Morning," one of them calls as I rush past. I look up, but can't tell which of the men has spoken. I murmur a noncommittal, "G'morning" and enter JJ's. I pay for a cream-filled, chocolate-covered, cholesterol-infested donut and then hurry back to my car.
"Have a good day," someone says, and I wave a silent acknowledgement as I start my car's engine.
Merging into the right lane of the freeway I reflect on how relaxed I would be if I could sit among those men every day and simply stare at the sky with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I find myself humming Old Man River until from behind me a car horn blares impatiently.
I press my foot on the accelerator to keep pace with the other cars, all of which are careening along madly at a reckless fifteen miles per hour. Yes, I tell myself, I definitely envy those men. There they sit, knowing something but doing nothing.
Once I reach my office, though, I think no more about them—until the next time I stop at JJ's.
Just look at them: sitting there in the early morning sun, one man with both hands jammed into a windbreaker; another with arms folded across his chest; two men arguing heatedly while yet another hides behind his newspaper, ignoring everyone. This man idly scans the sky for clouds as that man sits hunched over his coffee, carefully protecting it with both hands.
This particular day in early April with the air as fresh and crisp as Southern California mornings are legally permitted to be, the sky is a clear cerulean. The merest hint of gray shelters the San Gabriel Mountains to the north.
All is as it should be at that hour: quiet and calm yet energetic with the energy of early morning drivers speeding to work, dropping off children at school … or meeting a lover.
As a group, the men at JJ's look distinctly pleased with their situation. Most appear to be in their late sixties or early seventies, but one or two might be past eighty. I recall a gift someone gave me three years earlier for my sixty-fifth birthday: a blue ribbon that proudly proclaimed I was Older Than Dirt!
Well, yes, that's me. I am roughly the same age as the men who sit there gazing at whatever is in front of them. And today what's in front of them is me.
I hasten across the small parking lot toward JJ's. I have just enough time to buy a donut, which I can eat on the way to my office. With luck, traffic will be moderate.
If no tanker has overturned spewing thousands of gallons of toxic orange juice onto the freeway, if no early-morning motorcyclist has hit an unseen oil slick, if no hideous ten-car pileup has occurred (with hair, teeth and eyeballs splattered all over the road), I just might reach my office safely and on time. Yet there they sit, those coffee drinkers, almost Buddha-like in their philosophic tranquility.
God, how I envy them.
"Morning," one of them calls as I rush past. I look up, but can't tell which of the men has spoken. I murmur a noncommittal, "G'morning" and enter JJ's. I pay for a cream-filled, chocolate-covered, cholesterol-infested donut and then hurry back to my car.
"Have a good day," someone says, and I wave a silent acknowledgement as I start my car's engine.
Merging into the right lane of the freeway I reflect on how relaxed I would be if I could sit among those men every day and simply stare at the sky with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I find myself humming Old Man River until from behind me a car horn blares impatiently.
I press my foot on the accelerator to keep pace with the other cars, all of which are careening along madly at a reckless fifteen miles per hour. Yes, I tell myself, I definitely envy those men. There they sit, knowing something but doing nothing.
Once I reach my office, though, I think no more about them—until the next time I stop at JJ's.
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