Coffee House Vignettes: an Unusual Tribute to My Dad

I do not care for this time of year. Two years ago on Father’s Day 2013 my dad fell and broke his back and knee and that started his journey home. I sat down this morning to write an entirely different entry and ended up with this: an unlikely tribute to life and living.

Coffee House Vignettes

I sit inside a hip and swanky coffee shop after a long walk under the cover of the early morning sun. Looking outside the window I see a man in a baby blue and white striped shirt with a logo of some sort that I don’t recognize. He smiles constantly while speaking animatedly to a young woman who writes her a composition book with a feverish intensity.

As he talks the man, possibly in his fifties, makes graceful hand gestures, accentuating his seemingly articulate points. His blue eyes sparkle while his eyebrows crinkle. His salt and pepper eyebrows match his hair. He sits with his legs casually crossed. His gray shorts come to the top of his knees. He’s wearing grey and blue well-worn Asics, with white socks that barely peak out the top of his shoes.

His name? Jerry—clearly written on the outer edges of his coffee cup. He just now reaches for the young woman’s notebook and starts writing. After a few minutes he turns the notebook back to her and begins explaining—a math problem perhaps? Yet he appears to be writing script, so maybe not.

The young woman appears to be in her twenties with long blonde hair from a bottle, not from Mother Nature’s design. The roots reveal a brunette youth. In spite of the heat she wears a black long sleeve t-shirt and tan pants. Only her flip-flops give homage to the brutal sun. Her nails (fingers and toes) hold no paint. She leans on the table, her head in one hand as she listens intently to Jerry.

Two tables away from Jerry sit two older gents, possibly in their eighties, both drinking frappucinos and wearing military hats. One has a short sleeve Hawaiian shirt, while the other wears a royal blue t-shirt, covered by a faded denim long sleeve shirt. Both have large dark sunglasses protecting their eyes.

Other patio occupants include a woman in her fifties reading an actual newspaper, four teenage girls laughing sweetly while enjoying each others’ company—they do not seem to have an attachment to their phones, a rarity these days. The commonality amongst all—smiling, laughing, and animated faces. People making eye contact; people talking with each other and not to each other.

Connection: the key to happiness—connection with each other—connection with ourselves—connection with that inner sparkle. May we all find a bit of that inner light, that inner shine in each moment.

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One of my favorite pictures of my dad. I am my father's daughter.

One of my favorite pictures of my dad. I am my father’s daughter.


About Nancy A. Taylor

I'm a woman on a mission to create, manifest, and design the life that is perfect for me through travel, yoga, and mindful living. You can find me on facebook:
This entry was posted in grief, Memories, Transformation and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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