A Tale of Two Summers

Summertime for the grandkids.

It was the best of times and it stayed that way, with a few bumps here and there. As their ever-observant Papa would comment: “Welcome to the beginning of a lifetime of learning.” It’s summer time and my grandchildren are knee deep in jobs, sports and learning about life in general.

Unfortunately, when I was growing up, there were few if any (that my mother was aware of) summer camps, youth athletic events or school/church summertime youth programs. Even if she was aware of them, I’m sure my mother didn’t have the money to send us there.

So, my sister and I were left home alone while my mother worked. We got very bored. The routine was to get up late, watch Mel Jazz ‘Afternoon at the Movies’ on WTCN, Channel 11. Then waste the rest of the day doing nothing or something stupid. What a waste a youth. Thank heavens, it’s not the same with my grandkids.

As they were growing up, Sharon and I told our two kids that they weren’t allowed to work during the school year but were expected to stay busy during the summer months. After they both got tired of summer camps and were of the age, Brian and Melanie were told to get a job for the summer. It wasn’t for the money as much as the experience entailed in working with and for other people.

Now as adults themselves, both Brian and Melanie have taken their own tailored approach to summer activities for their own kids. Sharon and I are proud of both approaches they’ve taken.

Maya has discovered her dream job, becoming a star sales person for the Nature Conservancy. She believes deeply in their program, philosophy, goals, and agendas. She’s found that she loves talking to people and nature and the environment. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that she’s in Colorado where everyone drives a Subaru Outback with a dog inside.

Spencer works at Starbucks part time and has a side hustle working for a landscaping company. He’s become a seasoned barista, whipping up your standard as well as tailored drinks for customers. He’s discovered one of the great truths of life. Some customers are just plain weird.

Samantha is a camp counselor at Life time Fitness, does dog-walking (yep, that’s a business) and, of course, babysitting. She’s also branched out into doing work as a Nanny and still finds time for cross-country training for school.

Melanie and Scott have taken a different approach to summer activities for their kids.

Brennan is playing soccer for his club and high school team, going to hockey and tennis practices this summer. Between practice and performance, he’s also completing volunteer work for National Honor Society.

Charlotte is also playing soccer and hockey this summer and augmenting those activities with a plethora of side hustles. She is baby-sitting, dog walking and doing yard work for the neighbors. She’s also found time for two weeks roughing it in Isle Royale National Park; a part of the Boundary Waters Wilderness.

While all my grandchildren are very busy, each is taking a different approach to spending the summer months. There will still be time for family vacations, personal endeavors and time spent with friends. The activities are a reflection of both parents who care deeply that their kids make the best use of their time during the summer months. Two different philosophies based on their own value system and best interest for their kids

Our grandchildren benefit either way and we couldn’t be happier.

Saint Joseph has Left the Building

More out of curiosity than anything else I thought I’d revisit my early morning haunt at Starbucks. This particular store is on the outskirts of downtown and always seems to attract a smattering of circus performers without the circus. In the early morning hours, before normal people are beginning to stir in their beds, these shadows of the night begin to emerge from the darkness and slip into their caffeine-induced second home.

For years when I was in town, I had a habit of rising early and sequestering myself there in some corner chair to get lost in my iPad and light roast. Over the last couple of years that’s been supplanted by my own coffee maker at home and a chair on the patio, watching the sunrise cast its eerie glow over the mountains nearby. Recently I haven’t seen St. Joseph in a long time.

Each morning back then I would find Saint Joseph in his corner chair, waiting to council and administer to the daily needs of his flock. So one day last week I retraced my route back to that coffee corner for lost souls. I waited that morning and the next. He never showed. It didn’t take long to realize that nothing had really changed except my change of venue and St. Joseph was gone. Finally I asked one of the wait staff and they just shrugged their shoulders and mumbled: “Sorry, I don’t know.”

St. Joseph was a fixture and a character there for many years. He always held court at the same corner table. Same table, same time, always the same place. Seven days a week since at least 2010 when I first started going to there.

The only variable would be his entourage for any particular day and the visiting dignitaries who shuffled by for their coffee fix and to stop at his office for a brief exchange of wisdom before melting into the night once again.

Joseph was an older gentleman, probably in his mid-seventies. He was always cheerful, ready with a smile and a laugh. He had a pleasant demeanor that never varied with the seasons or time of day. I don’t know if Joseph was married or gay or straight. And it hardly mattered especially in a place like Palm Springs.  He was a councilor, advisor, cheerleader, friend, listener and seeker of the good in everyone he met.

For many people, Joseph was their early morning elixir for what ailed them on that particular day. Unlike the old men who gather at coffee shops around the world to blather on about nothing and expose their ignorance with Monday morning quarterbacking, second-guessing politicians and berating the government, Joseph was articulate, thoughtful and intelligent.

His entourage varied from day to day as did his visitors. There was an older woman who was usually at his side. I couldn’t tell if they were married, living together or just friends in need of companionship. She seemed to be the ying for his yang.

There was usually some old curmudgeon who would be bitching about something and always countered by Joseph’s calm response. The man was like a bad cliché but he doesn’t know it or seem to care. He would just keep embarrassing himself with his statements. Joseph was the man’s patient sounding board. I sometimes think Joseph’s nickname should be chuckles for his quick wit and logical response to the man’s anal chattering on about nothing.

Others would come and go. A few lingered but most just sat for a little while in Joseph’s corner and then moved on with their lives.

The conversations vary by the day. One time it might be the local news sprinkled with criticism of national politics. The next might be the weather; summer is hot, the rest of the year is wonderful. The conversations would be open, honest and usually bent toward the left which was not surprising considering the community that hosted them.

One time Joseph and his merry band of mischief-makers moved all the furniture around to suit their taste that day. They called themselves “Interior Desiccators.” Management wasn’t pleased and moved the furniture back in place. The next day, the game began again. Joseph won and management capitulated.

Another day, they dissected a local play. They decided it was Dr. Cold Fingers who was the proctologist. They ran lines of their own: “If you twitter my…I’ll google your”…and “two pickles short of a hamburger. ” None of it was really funny except that it was five in the morning and the caffeine hadn’t worked its magic yet. So they thought themselves hilarious.

Crossword puzzles were always a hit and usually completed in short order with a host of quick minds attacking the empty blocks. Often times, arguments arose and the dictionary (part of Joseph’s arsenal of support material) settled the answer.

The cadre of visitors varied each day but some stand out in my mind. There was the younger woman who lived in her wheelchair. She moved around by using her crutches as walking sticks. She had the sad eyes of a fawn that has just lost her mother. But she had many friends at Starbucks and seemed to relish their company.

There was the muscle man, built solid as a rock, who walked a toy poodle. The dog was his trusted companion and he loved that animal. Mr. Bojangles anyone. Dogs were always a part of the daily entourage. There’s still a dish of water for them outside every morning.

There was always the man in one corner with his flashlight, scanning the pages of the LA Times and N.Y. Times because, as he explained it, ‘the damn lighting was so bad inside.’

By 7:00 or 7:30, Joseph would be gone. I had no idea where he went to every day. But it didn’t really matter. Joseph was sure to be back the next day, same place, same time. There would be the same flock of casual friends looking forward to his ready smile, quick and easy-to-swallow dose of friendship. For many folks, that’s all that was needed to face another day and their reality, if only for a moment in time.

That outpost of Schultz’s coffee kingdom reminds me of the Triangle Bar on the West Bank and the Amsterdam Coffee houses of my past. But that’s all changed now. Their prices have all gone up. The cast and crew have changed over the years and little remains of those memories other than the same old cracked leather chairs and newspapers piled up in one corner.

Back then, I was just a casual observer, taking a lot of mental notes and thinking what a wonderful play this disciple of the caffeine crowd would make. But St. Joseph will have to wait. Sage came first with her ‘Riot at Sage Corner’ and now I’ve got an ensemble of characters attending their 50^th high school reunion. Perhaps after that I can revisit St. Joseph once again.

Saint Joseph Revisited

In my never-ending quest to find out ‘whatever happened to’…in Palm Springs, I decided to venture back to my favorite Starbucks for another predawn sojourn. When I was first began visiting this desert hamlet years ago I would usually get my fix there in the early morning hours.

This Starbucks is located in the Warm Sands neighborhood.  A resort playground noted for its popular gay enclaves and a plethora of tourist motels. This particular coffee corral has become a popular mecca for the more adventurous travelers to Palm Springs, colorful sometimes-questionable characters, desperados from the coast as well as local notables.

Palm Springs Starbucks

The crazy people parade starts promptly at 5:30am and continues well into each day.  But it’s the early morning hours that are usually offers the most entertainment. All-night revelers, secret liaisons re-emerging into the daylight and happy hippy couples of every description end up clambering for their morning nitro in front of the sometimes amused, seldom shocked and often heavily tattooed baristas…of both sexes. Actually, that goes for the customers too.

But it was really Saint Joseph who had caught my attention during my early morning explorations years ago.  He was interesting enough that I wrote one of my earlier blogs about him. It was entitled Saint Joseph of Starbucks.

  Back then, I used to arrive at the coffee-induced assembly area just after 5:30am.  Yet no matter how early I arrived, St. Joseph was always there ahead of me. Sitting at the same table in the same corner and waiting to council, Saint Joseph was ready to advise and administer to the daily needs of his flock.

The only variable was his daily entourage and a host of visiting dignitaries who shuffled by for their coffee fix yet always found time to stop by his table-office for a brief exchange of wisdom before melting into the night once again.

Joseph is an older gentleman probably in his mid-seventies.  He is always cheerful, ready with a smile and a laugh. He has a pleasant demeanor that never varies with the seasons or time of day. I don’t know if Joseph is married, gay or straight. But that hardly matters especially in a place like Palm Springs.  Joseph is a counselor, advisor, cheerleader, friend, listener, and seeker of the good in everyone he meets.

For many people, Joseph is their early morning elixir for what ails them on that particular day.  Unlike the old men who gather at coffee shops around the world to blather on about nothing in particular and expose their ignorance with Monday morning quarterbacking, second-guessing politicians and berating the government, Joseph is articulate, thoughtful, and intelligent.

  On this particular morning, I found Saint Joseph in his favorite corner chair surrounded by the usual gang of suspects.  Their conversations still vary by the day. One time it might be the local news sprinkled with criticism of national politics. The next might be the weather; summer is hot, the rest of the year is wonderful. The conversations are open, honest, and usually bent toward the left, which is not surprising considering the community that hosts them.

The cadre of visitors varies each day but some of the old regulars stand out in my mind.

There is the young woman who lives in her wheelchair.  She moves around by using her crutches as walking sticks. She has the sad eyes of a fawn that has just lost her mother. She has many friends at Starbucks and she relishes their company as they relish hers.

Then there is the muscle man, built solid as a rock who walks a tiny white toy poodle.  The dog is his trusted companion and he loves that animal with an affection that is palatable.

A day laborer stops by often.  He always wears a knit hat even in 125-degree summer heat. And he always seems to be moving from one job to another.

There is always the same man in some corner with his flashlight, scanning the pages of the LA Times and NY Times because the damn lighting is so bad inside.

By 7:30, Joseph is gone.  I have absolutely no idea where he goes. It might be to work, back home or another coffee shop. But it doesn’t really matter. Joseph is sure to be back the next day, same place, same time. There will be the same flock of casual friends who look forward to his ready smile, quick wit and easy to swallow dose of friendship. For many folks, that’s all that’s needed to face another day and their reality, if only for a moment in time.

 Further up the road in the Uptown Design District a new coffee shop is drawing a lot of attention.  But it’s in rather staid contrast to the eccentric gatherings at my Starbucks south of downtown. Developed by a local designer and developer, it’s called the Ernest Coffee Co. and Bootlegger Tiki bar.

 The space first opened as a Don the Beachcomber restaurant years ago.  Over time, it has gone through a variety of incarnations. This latest incarnation reflects the hip and trendy vibe that the design district now encompasses.  It pays homage to the Tiki culture of the 50’s while advancing the newer image of a hip Palm Springs gathering spot.  By night, it’s a colorful Tiki bar. During the day, it’s a gathering spot for locals and tourists alike.

I like the coffee there and the relaxed atmosphere. There are cool sculptures outside and many of the buildings are mid-century modern. It’s the new façade of Palm Springs that’s been carefully crafted and honed. It’s a warm and welcoming place to get my morning jolt. Everyone there is smart and beautiful and ‘with it.’  They wear glam on their backs and in their attitudes.

But it isn’t me.

 For all of its trendiness and hip vibe I still find the place lacking.  I guess I’m more drawn toward the jagged edges and dark shadows that lurk around my other caffeinated den of iniquity. That place has become my library of colorful characters. Any one of them can ignite my imagination with a mad scramble to jot down notes of comments made, inappropriate dress, unwarranted advances, and conduct unbecoming.  

They’re all auditioning for a place in one of my novels.

They just don’t know it yet.

Saint Joseph of Starbucks

Every morning at 5:00 am, in the Starbucks located in the heart of Palm Springs, Saint Joseph awaits to council, advise and administer to the daily needs of his flock.

He appears at his corner table. Always the same table, always the same time, always the same place. Seven days a week since at least 2000 when I first started going to Palm Springs.

The only variable is his entourage for that particular day and the host of visiting dignitaries who shuffle by for their coffee fix and always find time to stop at his office for a

brief exchange of wisdom before melting into the night once again.

Joseph is an older gentleman, probably in his mid-seventies. He’s always cheerful, ready with a smile and a laugh. He has a pleasant demeanor that never varies with the seasons or time of day. I don’t know if Joseph is married or gay or straight. And it hardly matters, especially in a place like Palm Springs.  He is a councilor, advisor, cheerleader, friend, listener and seeker of the good in everyone he meets.

For many people, Joseph is their early morning elixir for what ails them on that particular day. Unlike the old men who gather at coffee shops around the world to blather on about nothing and expose their ignorance with Monday morning quarterbacking, second-guessing politicians and berating the government, Joseph is articulate, thoughtful and intelligent.

His entourage varies from day to day as do his visitors.

There is an older woman who is usually at his side. I can’t tell if they’re married, living together or just friends in need of companionship. She seems to be the yin for his yang.

And an old curmudgeon who is usually bitching about something and is always countered by Joseph’s calm response. The man is like a bad cliché but he doesn’t know it or seem to care. He just keeps embarrassing himself with his statements. Joseph is the man’s patient sounding board. I sometimes think Joseph’s nickname should be chuckles for his quick wit and logical response to the man’s anal chattering on about nothing.

Others come and go. A few linger but most just sit or stand for a little while in Joseph’s corner and then move on with their lives.

The conversations vary by the day. One time it might be the local news sprinkled with criticism of national politics. The next might be the weather; summer is hot, the rest of the year is wonderful. The conversations are open, honest and usually bent toward the left, which is not surprising considering the community that hosts them.

One time Joseph and his merry band of mischief-makers moved all the furniture around to suit their taste that day. They called themselves “Interior Desiccators.” Management wasn’t pleased and moved the furniture back in place. The next day, the game began again. Joseph won and management capitulated.

Another day, they dissected a local play. They decided it was Dr. Cold Fingers who was the proctologist. They ran lines of their own: “If you twitter my…I’ll google your”…and “two pickles short of a hamburger. ” None of it was really funny except that it was five in the morning and the caffeine hadn’t worked its magic yet. So they thought themselves hilarious.

Crossword puzzles are always a hit and usually completed in short order with a host of quick minds attacking the empty blocks. Often times, arguments arise and the dictionary (part of Joseph’s arsenal of support material) settles the answer.

The cadre of visitors varies each day but some stand out in my mind.

There is the younger woman who lives in her wheelchair. She moves around by using her crutches as walking sticks. She has the sad eyes of a fawn that has just lost her mother. But she has many friends at Starbucks and she relishes their company. They relish hers.

Then there is the muscle man, built solid as a rock, who walks a toy poodle. The dog is his trusted companion and he loves that animal. Dogs come and go. There’s even a dish of water for them outside every morning.

A day laborer stops by often. He always wears a knit hat even in 125-degree summer heat. And he always seems to be moving from one job to another.

There is always the man in one corner with his flashlight, scanning the pages of the LA Times and NY Times because the damn lighting is so bad inside.

Numerous gay men come by. Many of them argue like any old married couple. The arguments are always the same, only the gender is different.

A Black businessman with a ready smile is there every morning. He is always impeccably dressed in a white shirt and tie even in the stifling summer heat.

For a short while, there was even a guy who took a fancy to me. His gaydar must have been out of whack that week.

By 7:00 or 7:30, Joseph is gone. I have absolutely no idea where he goes off. But it doesn’t really matter. Joseph is sure to be back the next day, same place, same time. There will be the same flock of casual friends who look forward to his ready smile, quick wit and easy to swallow dose of friendship. For many folks, that’s all that’s needed to face another day and their reality, if only for a moment in time.

Starbucks reminds me of the Triangle Bar on the West Bank and the Amsterdam Coffee houses of my past. Only now I’m just a casual observer, taking a lot of notes.

And thinking what a wonderful play this story would make.