Coffee Shops and “College Bound Son” Musings

*I love that I am in a relationship that I choose to drive 30 minutes in the opposite direction just to be with her for a few hours between clients and then all the way back to Fairfield. It’s already coming up on one year of marriage and I still feel this way.

An impromptu afternoon. The more that I sit and intend/attend to writing, the more comes. Surprise surprise. 😉 I am sitting at Safari Kaffeine across from the most beautiful woman. She is fiddling with her new toy (a Sketchbox), watching a tutorial on how to use special blending pens to draw a sketch of an attractive looking gentleman. She just paused to show me how the KOH-I-NOOR kneaded rubber eraser and the magical lifting effect it has on charcoal.  The coffee shop was buzzing with various conversations from local valley inhabitants. Nothing could possibly interest me more. Except for maybe my attention being stolen for the purpose of sorting out car insurance for my firstborn son. That process arduous and frustrating as it may be.

Tyler as a character. Could I write him? Having read Anne Lamott this a.m. and having a nice dose of her as daily vitamin/medicine I am thinking about character development. Speaking of character development let’s talk about arguing for a minute. The purpose of it…. my ex-husband argues for the sake of doing so. Some internal ego battle being played out on the co-parenting field, wreaking havoc amongst the ranks, sigh. I can hear my grandmother delightfully chirping that song “if you can’t say something nice…. say nothing”. Interesting because she had an invisible way of being mean by the way of shame. When the person isn’t even aware of what they are doing or do, what use is it to try and make sense of it or point it out. You can really only try to do better yourself. This is what I have made most of my life into. I have unknowingly embarked upon a mission of being committed to knowing myself above all things. Mostly in my early years this resulted in a way to emotionally terrorize myself, as what I was most aware of were my many shortcomings. Natural behaviors of youth and immaturity became material to analyze for threat and I “worse case scenario’d myself” about myself for a long time. Finding no calm for this anxiety, and a variety of others as I discovered many things about myself including my many blind spots.

As I wonder about Tyler as a character I sift through what I know about young male characters. Let’s see we have Holden Caufield and a young David Foster Wallace…. wondering how he will be alike and different from them. How his unique experiences will shape the landscape of his life. I was thinking this morning about how to encourage him as far as college. Part of me wants to keep him as close as possible and of course reduce costs by encouraging practicality, and the other part is screaming screw practicality get on the other Coast or another country even and see new things, and DO STUFF. In the end these choices will be his, but I know I have a tremendous influence on him as well. You don’t realize when your child is first placed into your arms that someday they will be a real life “almost adult”, and that you will be vulnerable to any suffering they experience without your consent. To love as deeply as I do is a divine suffering. To not love like this; impossible. The choice was never really mine. I didn’t know I loved like this when I first decided to have children. I didn’t know a great many things then. Knowing them now doesn’t make the feelings any different.

It’s time to head back to the office soon. I don’t want this time to end. I am sitting here thinking about how a coffee shop barista is not unlike a mental health counselor in many ways. People are looking to share their experiences and what is going on in their lives with others. A musician that plays with one of my favorites, Lee-Ann Lovelace who sings with her whole soul (they play Monday nights at Crave) came in for coffee, he is talking about how he brought his cat to the vet today. He ordered a large coffee with a little mocha. Never heard it ordered like that before. I like his hat. It reminds me of a hat of my wife’s that she wore on our most recent date to the casino. It’s very St. Patrick’s like… very Irish I suppose I mean.

Ok back to reading Every Love Story is a Ghost Story, basking in the glow of my love, and then my office and clients.



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