spiders and brake lines

It's funny what scares you.  Or maybe you're perfectly normal and only afraid of heights that you may fall from or snake bites that might actually kill you.  As for me, I like to take the quirky side of irrational.  Apparently.
The 1973 Dodge Calypso that is to become the Take this Cup Coffee Truck is perched happily and safely in the back corner of the yard; backed there by a neighbor who offered to do it for me, likely without even knowing that the thought of driving the thing has been keeping me up nights for a week.  I had been sitting in this chair, trying to take up nail biting, instant messaging my friend Harmony to talk her into guiding my drive to the back yard on her lunch break.  Not because the treacherous roll around the corner of the house would be hard to navigate, but because the thought of doing it had me in a complete panic.  As I awaited her response, I absently brushed the hairy eight-legged monster off my elbow without a second thought.  (Well, there was a second thought, a few minutes later, as to why I hadn't jumped through the window screaming when a wolf spider was crawling on me, but even that was a rather calm thought.)
My sister Jesse gave me a ride to pick up the Calypso last week.  I had a securely fastened manila folder of registration paperwork, printed out insurance emails and temporary plates and a promise that my new pal who was selling me the vehicle would help me drive it home.  Just as soon as he was done at the dentist.  He hadn't called back by the time we got there, so we took a detour to do a little shopping while I waited for the call.  Is that actually my greatest fear, I wonder?  Waiting for the phone to ring?  Or slowly going mad waiting for the ring tone, like watching for an inanimate possessed object to come to life?  That is precisely what I started to do, wandering the aisles of Target, checking the screen compulsively incase I suddenly went deaf and wouldn't be able to hear the ring on full volume.  What if he just didn't call back?  Just disappeared?  Took off with the check and laughed to someone about how he'd pulled one over on this stupid woman from Bantam who thought she bought a camper on Craigslist.  What if I would just have to go and retrieve the vehicle on my own, learning to drive this antiquated beast down Rte 202 as I went?
So relieved was I when he did finally call and we were at last in the bucket seats heading west that the brakes going out on East Main Street in Torrington didn't even get me down.  I was still smiling, gripping the dashboard, as we rolled through a red light at a busy intersection, unable to stop, and into the Twin Co parking lot, where the emergency brake finally did its job.
Is it overdrive, I wonder?  Or do we only start to think clearly and positively when we get close enough to a near-death situation to give us a little perspective?  I still haven't had to actually drive it myself, but the Calypso, all five tons, is parked out back on just enough of an angle, aimed right at my window, right at my chair, spider and all, that if the brakes suddenly succumbed to gravity-  well, I want to say that it would all be over quickly, but that's not true either.  The fire and smashed house and unpayable hospital bills of that scenario are perhaps just enough to keep me and my sense of perspective happily in order.
You know what they say.  If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much room.  Some people sky dive.  Me, I think about parking.  Some people wrestle alligators.  Me, I make business plans. 
Stay tuned for the next action packed episode, wherein our heroine replaces a PVC pipe for the camper water tank......

in the mean time...

I've been making sandwiches.  I've been working at a grocery store deli in town that gets a fair number of people looking for lunch.  I'm not sure if it was the girl who always gets a wrap with just lettuce and mustard or the guy who wanted a buffalo tender sandwich with hot sauce and bleu cheese dressing or someone in between, but something today gave me a new theory.
It seems that medical news and updates lately say more and more that the importance of food outweighs medicine.  Food can heal us.  Eating things that aren't food can hurt us.  (I think we learned this from Curious George and the Puzzle Piece many many years ago...) 
It wasn't terribly long ago that a career in medicine was considered lowly.  The same guy that cut your hair could chop your tonsils out for you.  It makes me wonder if in a hundred years or so our current sandwich making could be the thing that makes the kids in history class guffaw. 
What if the future of food service is therapeutic?  What if the kind of cheese and amount of mayonnaise you want becomes secondary to the bedside (counterside?) manner that someone can offer?  The consultation, the genuine care?  The sandwich doctor takes a look at your complexion, assesses your mood and your general health and offers some suggestions.  Let's prescribe you extra tomatoes for lycopene and Vitamin A, a little extra lettuce for digestion, roast beef for a little protein boost and horseradish for antioxidants, and a little mayonnaise because you need to have some enjoyment.
What is it that people are looking for when they stop to get a coffee and something to eat?  Why didn't they make the economically wiser decision to buy groceries and a thermos? 
Mostly, you need someone to recognize and validate you, seriously consider your needs and help you make decisions.  You could probably make a good sandwich choice on your own.  But then again, how many times has a doctor told you to drink a lot of fluids and get some rest? 
What does the girl with the lettuce wrap or the guy with the fried sandwich really need?  More than anything else, to be recognized and appreciated as beautiful exactly as they are, and told that they are worthy of something creamy and delicious and that people around will be happy that they enjoy it.
Just some thoughts for the sci-fi future, when we will look back in horror at the days of yore.  I hope you had a wonderful lunch today.

Words and Beans

In a moment of worry yesterday over the dangers of bringing religion into anything, I realized that lots of people would love to get their morning coffee from a crazy lady. 

Take this Cup

The name "Take This Cup" is on a list of names thought up during a period in my twenties when my dream seemed to be to have a coffee shop where I could wear a nun's habit and sing hymns while pulling espresso shots all day.  The dream has changed somewhat, but the name has taken a deeper level of meaning, as things tend to do when we work our ways closer to reality over the years.

I'm enjoying leaving Take This Cup somewhat open to interpretation, even to myself.  Sometimes I see an Abbie Hoffman-esque message of anti-capitalism, a cup already taken.  Sometimes I see a priest offering the Eucharist.  Mostly I see a message of giving and mystery; possibly the best two things in the human experience.

Tonight I did a Google search of the three words to check if there was another business whose toes I would be stepping on by taking the name.  I was surprised that all of the scriptural references that came up were focused on Jesus' words in prayer just before his crucifixion, asking God to "take this cup" of suffering away. 

I don't know what I think about Jesus or words in the Bible, or even cups for that matter.  Sometimes they chip or spill.  They can let you down.  I've had some favorites, but I haven't found the perfect one yet.

Take this cup of suffering away, he says.  But not my will but yours be done. 

The truth is that in some dark moments lately I have felt like I'm at the bottom of a pit and the only way out is to force this coffee dream to come true.  I'm absolutely amazed at the support that I've gotten from friends and family.  I'm amazed by the love that surrounds me, even when I'm in the bottom of a pit. 

That's my current cup maybe, a little bit of sour suffering.  Not crucifixion, but being fired, being dumped, and feeling like a failure.  Pretty bad. 

I want this.  I want it for myself so much.  I want to run my own numbers and never let a boss control my life again.  And I want to make all kinds of dollars and have a lovely time.  But not my will but the will of love in the world.  Take this that I have to offer.  It's partly from love, partly from purity, partly from bitter selfishness and greed.  Take and drink.  This is my livelihood, given for you.

Given for you and also for your three dollars.  But given for you.