Refilling My Coffee Cup at the Crossroads

Smithsonian Castle, The Castle Cafe - coffee

October 4, 2011

$3.47 for a cup of coffee. – Me

#293 cup of coffee:  The Castle Café, Smithsonian Castle, Washington, D.C.

Coffee = Pura Vida

1-4 scale, body=3, sweetness=2, acidity= 2

Museums have many purposes; they give us access to photographs detailing 1000 words in a single moment. They give us the dreams and nightmares of artists splashed on canvas with acrylic paint. Also, they give us access to the dead wrapped in finery and on display in light (think mummy exhibits).

What most museums do not offer, though, is good food. Or, to put it more directly, they do not offer food that tastes good. In fact, to wish that museums offer food grown with good intentions to all stakeholders is a dream so absurd it’s almost risky. I dare you to disagree.

Luckily, museums are free because the quality of the food, and the cost of the food, would force any self-respecting art aficionado to run screaming to her studio apartment painted in rich colors of autumn, and throw away her Monet retrospective brochures and accompanying DVDs.

As a result of this coffee project I visited more museums in a shorter time period than characteristic for me. I haven’t devoted time to viewing the art, as my focus was on tasting the fare. With each coffee adventure completed at a museum my enthusiasm for future coffee adventures in museums became more sludge than crystal; I didn’t look forward to it. Luckily this was my last coffee adventure in a museum. I learned to eat first at home, and view some of the best art in the world as a form of dessert.

Mitsitam Native Foods Cafe, National Museum of the American Indian - coffee

October 4, 2011

Everyone smiles in the same language. – Anonymous

#292 cup of coffee:  Mitsitam, Native Foods Café, National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, D.C.

Coffee = Unknown

1-4 scale, body=3, sweetness=3, acidity= 2

In order to increase my empathy for all living things I must consider the goals of water. I’m not in a position to fight for the rights of water; I’m not versed in laws about water rights or historical views of weather patterns, but to consider it as a living entity, and to consider myself an empathic person, is to put the goals of water in perspective. If all living entities have goals, then the shared goal would be to express one’s views without restraint; let the water flow where it wants to go. We should not cage it within reflecting pools, like an animal in a cage, and we should not commandeer the direction of its flow like pruned roses. Treated this way, I wonder if water feels like silly putty.

I think in these terms because from within this cafeteria space I see a water fountain outside the window. It has transience and rhythm as do the tourists watching it. However, it is contained and I do not know how or where it’s allowed to travel away from the fountain. Practically, it must be processed somehow as people throw stuff into it.

To redirect my thinking to something more tangible, as I can’t ask the water what it wants, I consider the ideas of goals for all living things. I always have goals as they keep me interested in the day to day, the season to season, and the year to year. I create goals that result in my being a different person or rather a person with a slightly different lifestyle. I don’t know if bears do this, or if water does this, or if an erupting volcano is really giving a high five because it accomplished a goal. I wonder about the draw of goals, and at what level it is purely cultural, at what point human, and at what point it becomes the natural response for all living things.

Spy City Cafe - Notice on building detailing relevance to Washington, D.C., history.

Spy City Cafe - coffee

October 4, 2011

Fresh activity is the only means of overcoming adversity. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

#291 cup of coffee:  Spy City Cafe, Washington, D.C.

Coffee = M. E. Swings

1-4 scale, body=2, sweetness=3, acidity= 2

I walked around a couple block radius near the Gallery Place/Chinatown metro stop exit because the primary café I expected to write at wasn’t open as expected. As I waited for the staff’s interpretation of their opening time to arrive I saw this café near a different metro stop exit near the Portrait Gallery.

This café wasn’t open on time as well, but it looked more interesting from the outside. I wanted to know what the difference would be between a sandwich that was created in a nondescript café, and one that was created in a café that continued the Spy Museum concept.

Ultimately, the food wasn’t anything special; similar to most museum food. However, the décor was retro and fun. It supported my belief that the interior made the poetry.

I don’t like to write on wobbly tables, or sitting on wobbly chairs, and I don’t like to write on a table that is too close to the next patron-no elbow room. Also, tables that are out in the middle of the café room are tables to quickly eat at, and leave from. If I open my notebook, it is to inspire me to do something I know I won’t do.

I love to write on tables near windows unless the windows are drafty, and it is cold outside. Memories of months of fighting colds while I completed the research for the East Coast Poet’s Last Chance Latte Log rush at me as the wind rushes at my neck. I love to write on tables with pew-like benches. My favorite table to write on is a big slab of wood near a window.

When I worked at Amazon.com, our desks were constructed of minimalist design, just a bunch of wood fastened together, and I remembered that the CEO was proud of his thrift. Those simple tables would have been great to write on if they weren’t topped by computers.

The table at this café was a wrap-around vinyl design that was comfy cozy. It was just right to sit at, and stare out the window with pen in hand, and notebook open. I didn’t have the time to write poetry, but I kept it as an option for future poetical musings.

Camille’s Sidewalk Cafe - coffee

October 4, 2011

A brief list of things that are amazing: my own bed. – @YarnHarlot

#290 cup of coffee:  Camille’s Sidewalk Cafe, Washington, D.C.

Coffee = Unknown

1-4 scale, body=3, sweetness=3, acidity= 2

I’m enamored of my pen and paper. Whatever I give to them, they give back, but in a different format. In fact, sometimes I can’t read what they give back to me, and I wonder how did they write that. I resign myself to a translation issue between my brain, and my pen and paper. In my hurry to have my pen and paper expose my thoughts sometimes I end up with words on my pages that reflect the physical writing style of chaos.

A blank page is potential. A new pen is ready. If they are put together then action is the priority. The truest action when pen meet paper is to expose the world in a swirl of ink. They can only reveal, as if they are psychics for the present moment.

Pens and papers come in different colors, and I love to buy books of blank pages with pens that match the covers. The potential focus has doubled with the emphasis on color scheme or theme just like the decadence of a chocolate brownie is doubled when chocolate chips are added to the batter.

My pen and paper are committed to the task, but they are not committed to me. If by an uncharacteristic chance my pen and paper end up in the hands of another person, then they are ready to honor that person’s thoughts. They are guided by the truth of the moment, the uppermost thought in a person’s head; the list of items, the thank you note.

Dunkin’ Donuts, Gallery Place, Washington, D.C. - coffee