Once a Gypsy, Always a Gypsy

In August I set out to do something I had never done before: live in one place. For three and half months I lived in the same place. I approached this endeavor with great concern, concern that I would become overwhelmingly stir-crazy, concern that the walls would close in and the calmer pace of college would push me into a mental downward spiral. 

   How did I survive this stationary life?

  By traveling, of coarse. I went mostly short distances, with a few long ones thrown in. You see adventure isn't always about picking up and flying across the country (although I did do that this Fall- twice). Adventure, discovery, mystery, they're about looking around you. Chasing the sunsets, finding comrades who will look for magic with you, trying new things that sound crazy. 

  So here are a few glimpses of some adventures I found close by. Gypsy living is in my blood, and sometimes it's really hard to not be moving every few weeks. But you don't have to drive a thousand miles to be a gypsy, you just have to get out on the road and head somewhere. 

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The Firefly Coffee House, located somewhere in Fort Wayne.

A blurry photo of this artsy coffeehouse that I was able to explore with friends/fellow adventurers. 

Braving the Autumn wind we went searching for buildings that had stories to tell. 

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      This photo was taking right after I half yelled at my boyfriend something along the lines of, "LOOK AT IT! IT'S BEAUTIFUL!" He quickly pulled over the car so I could capture the moment. But the shot wasn't right. This is where I get the term "chasing the sunset" because that is exactly what we did.

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   The boy and I also stopped by the Electric Brew which has been as aspiration of mine for quite some time. The place lived up to my hopes and dreams by providing a unique, relaxing, lovely coffee house where people can chat, study or just stare at the texture of the walls and ceiling. All the while enjoying dark, freshly roasted coffee.

gypsy | jipsē

noun 

2 A nomadic, free-spirited person. 

Keep adventuring, my friends. 

Foreign Air

  I try my best in life not to make excuses. While there is an art to making up a good excuse, and while there are appropriate times to explain a situation that caused you to arrive late or not get a job done, most of the time it is best just to take responsibility for dropping the proverbial ball.

  Having said that, I will now make a list of possible excuses for my lack of posting over the last few months: 

1. I haven't had time.

      -This is a very good example of a terrible excuse. I have plenty of time. If I have time to sleep and eat and draw and make coffee and watch multiple seasons of tv shows on Netflix, I definitely have time to write a blog post.

2. I haven't been able to make it to any interesting coffee shops. 

      -Lololololololololololol. As if. 

3. I lost interest in blogging. 

      -Rude and untrue.

 4. I lost the roll of film from my trip to Canada and have therefore been unable to post about it. 

      -While this is the only true excuse I fully understand it is not actually a good one...

  No matter the (decent or terrible) reason, I am here now, and I have stories to tell. This time about my trip out of the country and next time about the gem coffee shops I have discovered around my college. 

 Stratford is a lovely place, especially with the Autumn breeze breathing into the trees and over the water. I went to Canada because the English group at my school takes a trip up north to Stratford every fall for the Shakespeare Festival. We got up long before the sun Saturday morning and headed for the great land above us. According to my mother I went to Canada as a baby but I do not remember that scenario so I consider this trip my first out of the country. 

Day one was the Shakespeare part. We began by seeing an odd rendition of A Midsummer Night's Dream, we then switched theaters to see the ever-drammatic Antony and Cleopatra. The night was finished out with strange desserts and soothing tea from "The Parlour." "The Parlour" was old, expensive, and utterly fantastic. It felt like like a sophisticated tavern, one any great adventure could start in.

 Day 2 was the tourist part. Our large group split off into smaller groups as we set out to explore the to the downtown of Stratford. Of course I was instantly on the look out for coffee shops, but we ended up walking along the river first, since most of the shops were closed before ten. The river trail led us behind rows of buildings, over a bridge and then to a secret path behind a neighborhood of nice houses(it may or may not have been private property, we may or may not have been trespassing, I honestly don't know).
   Once all the shops were open we returned downtown in search of souvenirs and, yes, coffee. We found jewelry and books and art and more weird food. I breathed in the foreign air and took close looks at the building and sidewalks. Whenever I go somewhere new I try to experience it to the fullest. I love to discover what is unique about it, what stories it tells, what memories it holds. Sometimes when I get to a new place I just take a minute to fill my insides full of its oxygen, becoming more a part of where I am.
  The coffee houses of a place are important not just because they provide comfort and deliciousness to the people around, but also because they reflect the personality of the whole town. The two coffee shops I found in Stratford gave lovely pictures of the contrasting ways of living found locally.

"Slave to the Grind" was small, artsy and dark. A good dark, though, the kind of dark that I could find inspiration in. The coffee was good, but the atmosphere was better. A place where people could come without worry of distraction. A place to write to read or stare out the window and ponder the universe. A place to just be. And I really appreciate places that invite me to simply exist.
  Across the street and down a few blocks was "Balzacs." This coffee house was the polar opposite of "Slave to the Grind." The only similarity was that they both served wonderful coffee. "Balzacs" was bright and crowded; it was also, classic. I liked the sophisticated nostalgia. The coffee was lovely as well. I wish I had had more time because I only got to try one brew and they had so many!
    This is picture is from "Balzacs" and for some reason is probably my favorite from the whole trip.

  I do hope to go back to Stratford. I would like to sit by the river a bit longer, to write a story at the Grind and maybe read The Great Gatsby at "Balzacs," Fitzgerald's novel would be most fitting for it, I think.
  I'll leave you now with a few pictures from the trip. As you look perhaps you can imagine breathing the Stratford air, if you really focus you may just be able to smell the maple leaves and coffee grounds.

A Curious Package

  Coffee is a communal drink. Even if you are drinking it alone, it's been shared with you. It has been harvested, roasted, ground and brewed. Sometimes all of these steps are done by different people. Sometimes all of these steps are done in different countries. Coffee skillfully induces community, bringing together people from all places and stages of life.

Today I received a mysterious package. 

But I'll come back to that.

  Over a year ago I met a girl not much younger than myself. She had dark hair and wore dark clothes. I could tell by her subtle mannerisms and glances that she felt outcasted by her peers, so I made an effort to include and befriend her. Not long after we started talking, we got on the subject of coffee. She told me about her parents’ weird obsession with Dunkin Donuts flavored coffees and how they would buy bags and bags of it. The conversation moved on and soon we both had to go. But I had hope that we had a connection. In her I saw familiar walls. Walls built because of past hurts. Walls that made it hard for anyone to get close. 

  To my extreme surprise, the next day she brought me three bags of Dunkin Donuts flavored coffee! At the time I didn't have a lot of money so I rarely, if ever, bought bags of coffee. 

  There was a sweet irony to the fact that I was the one trying so hard to help this girl feel accepted and loved, yet she turned around and made me feel recognized and cared about.

  That's why I say coffee is communal. It connects people and helps people open up, especially the people who don't think that they need to (aka: Me).

At first, I assumed one of my brothers had sent me the mysterious package as a late birthday present. But, when asked, they all denied having sent anything. 

A few months ago a wrote a list. I write lists often because they keep me on track and make me feel accomplished. But this list wasn't a check-off list. I wanted to write down what I wanted in my college experience. My reason for writing out this list was because I knew if I didn't have goals to stick to, I would bury myself in schoolwork and never come out to invest in people or dance in the rain. 

 One of the things I put on this list was that I wanted to be able to share my coffee and use it to help people.  

  While this was very important to me, I admit I was a tiny bit concerned that I would run out of coffee, and money. Part of me wanted to keep my coffee to myself so that it would last. 

  When I arrived at college I told the girls on my dorm hall and many random people I met that I loved to make coffee and if they ever needed some just to let me know. 

  I  now have a special chair in my room that I pull out for people to sit in while they drink their coffee or while they are waiting for me to make them a specialty drink. And they do. People ask me to make them some coffee because they have to pull an all-nighter, people come in to unload some stress while drinking soothing tea, people come for study breaks, or just to chat. 

  I want my coffee to be safe place, I guess. Mostly because I feel there are not many safe places left. I want to be able to bring some relief and relaxation for my peers here, partially because I know what it feels like not to be able to find that safety. I also know what it feels like not to being able to find good coffee. And that is a tragedy I will fight at all costs.

When I cut open the package, I proceeded to pull out a bag of coffee. Then another, and another, and another. Four bags of coffee, and no idea who sent them.

 I laugh at myself now, thinking about how concerned I was that I would run out of coffee. Since being at college I have shared many cups and pots of coffee. Since being at college I have not purchased a single bag of coffee. Since being at college I have been given ten bags of coffee. 

As I pulled out all the coffee bags, I had to chuckle. 

After much confusion I texted my mom and she told me who sent the coffee. I had never              heard of the person. She explained that he "remembers you from when you were a little girl in fluffy dresses." 

Someone, somewhere, remembered me as a short, golden-haired toddler and decided to give me coffee. He doesn't know me now, but he made my day, and, he made it possible for me to continue helping people get through exams and stressful relationships by giving them a warm drinks for no charge. The cool thing about community is that is spreads. Someone helps someone who help someone who helps someone. 

That's how coffee is communal or, as a wise man once put it: a catalyst for togetherness. 

GO TEAM

  In all the adventures that I have embarked on, three weeks ago I set out for one of my craziest ones yet: College.
  What is this that people pay thousands of dollars to live in tiny dorms and eat cafeteria food? Madness, total madness.
  As I was packing this summer my dad informed me that I was bringing too many coffee supplies.     "You do not need three coffee makers in college," he pleaded. I tried to explain that I use the carafe for large quantities; pour over for a quick, smoother cup; and french press for espresso. He just shook his head and walked away.
  As a compromise I left the french press.
  The reason for my intense preparation was mostly because I figured that college coffee would be Zombie Pee* coffee, so I wanted to always be able to make my own.  However, upon arriving I found that not only does the cafeteria brew their own coffee every day, there is also a school coffee shop in the building neighboring mine. Still, I tried not to get my hopes up. If they brew their own in bulk then it would most likely be the "F word" coffee.**
  I waited about two days before I ventured over to the coffee station. Apprehensively, I pulled the lever.
  The substance that came out seemed non-toxic. That's a good start.
  Snifffffff.
  It smelled like non-profane coffee. Also good.
  I took a sip.
  Well, I may be paying thousands of dollars to learn about puritans and adjectives; but the coffee is good. That's right, I said good. It's better than fine, it's worse than amazing. But good enough that I don't dread eating in the cafeteria.
  So to all you prospective college students: find a college that has good coffee.
  And to all you current college students: if your college has coffee that is better than good let me know so I can drop everything and come join.

  On an almost totally different note, I realized something very strange about myself this week. A lot of time in movies or TV shows, characters will be in their home talking with friends or family and someone will pour a mug of coffee while they are conversing. Whenever that happens, I unconsciously smile. I know, I know it's weird. But I find great pleasure in watching people drink coffee. In real life and on screen.
  Fandoms will come and go. There will always be wars between Team Edward and Team Jacob, Team Gale and Team Peeta, Team Star wars and Team Star Trek, Team Hobbit-is-better and team Are-you-freaking-kiddong-LOTR-is-so-much-better, Team Marvel and Team DC, Team Elmo and Team Barney, Team Disney and Team Nick.
  I personally will always be Team Coffee.






*Places that need a lot of coffee and don't want to worry about having to brew it often get machines that "makes" it for you. You put a bag of coffee concentrate in the machine and it mixes the concentrate with hot water when you push the button. I call this abomination Zombie Pee because zombies typically have gray crackly skin and eat brains, right? So what color do you think their pee is? That's right. And what does it taste like? My guess is coffee concentrate and hot water. 

**For new readers, the "F Word" coffee is Folgers... please excuse my potty mouth...

Superior Taste

  I really need to stop with the puns. I wish I could blame my gosh darned boyfriend or annoyingly corny father but I really only have myself to blame. I've fallen into the trap of a well-placed pun. I hate them still, but I've fallen none the less.
  A few months ago I randomly took a trip to Minnesota. I think it was a first for me actually, which is exciting because I've been to almost every state. Finding a state I've yet to experience is a big deal for me. A similarly big deal is when I drink coffee in a new state.
  The nice people I was staying with wanted to show my best friend and I Lake Superior. So off we went on an uneventful hour long ride to Minnesota. My one stipulation for the day was that if I am going to a new state, I must drink coffee.
  Upon arriving the city(I actually have no idea what city it was...minor details) my best friend I agreed that it looked like something right out of a dysutopian novel. After driving through the city we stopped at a tower of sorts. It was a historical tower, dedicated to some Count a hundred years ago or something. Very simple and pointless. Four flights of stairs, every level looking exactly the same. No rooms, barred windows, truly I don't why it was there only that it honored a titled foreigner. That I couldn't understand it made it all the more intriguing to me.
  This is a picture of the view from the top, which brings me to my next point of interest. Above is Lake Superior. In late May.
  "Why is Lake Superior white?" you might ask. Good question. We were asking the same thing on that sunny day.
  The Answer: Ice.
  We were so fascinated that we had to get a closer look.
  It was beautiful.
  There were chunks of ice as big as a car and who knows how deep. The wind blew over the them making the air chilly. Not too far out were ships that looked to me right out of the 1800's. Perhaps they were. Perhaps they sat out there as another tribute to the Mysterious Count.

    Before you reach the water there was a little park area with quirky places to get treats. My personal favorite was the mini ship that sold mini donuts. Delicious mini donuts. That was another first for me- eating donuts from a ship that is on land.

  And then there was the lighthouse. Honestly, what would a trip like this be without a lighthouse?

I hope you are wondering about now about the coffee. If you aren't then shame on you. Count Mysterious would be disappointed. Okay...Probably not. But aren't you at least a little bit curious if I got to drink coffee in a new state? I mean, it's a big deal for me. 

Fine. I'll just tell you. 

  Meet the Red Mug Coffeehouse. If ever there was a time to use the word "hipster" it would be in describing this place. From the weird and slightly disturbing artwork to the mismatchy furniture to the heavily bearded baristas. It was in a basement for crying out loud, how much more indie can you get? 

  I loved it. 

 So there you go. My first cup of coffee in Minnesota...I thought. 

 As I excitedly told the nice coffee man that I've never had coffee in Minnesota before he graciously informed me that we had just barely crossed the border back into Wisconsin.

  Dang it. 

A Person

I don't really know how self portraits work or if there are certain requirements that you have to uphold to make something a true self portrait. My general understanding is that it has to be something of you. Something that you created or thought up about yourself.
If someone were to ask me, "Are you a vain person?" I would want to give a modest and well thought out answer. Something that would make people think that I am a beautiful and confident woman who takes no notice if I am a beautiful and confident women.
But that would not be true. I care about my thin hair and squinty eyes and small stature. I look in the mirror more than I would like to admit, and I put too much effort into my appearance.
I do not say this to fish for compliments or to get people to tell me that I am wrong and beautiful. I say this because I want to be honest with myself and others.
I am vain.
Some days more than others. Somedays I really don't care; I throw my hair up and walk around in a big t-shirt and spandex shorts. But somedays, when the right people are around and giving me slightly superior looks, I am very vain.
Today I am posting a small series of self portraits. Not because I want to flaunt anything or get people to tell me nice things, not even because they have some deep, wonderful meanings.
But rather because I am just a person. And these are just photos from the past year that show a little of who I am as a person. A  flawed, vain, reluctantly poetic person.

Grind and Prejudice

It is a truth universally acknowledged that with a great love for coffee comes a wide array of spills and stains. I've often said that if I ever have children I will not be able to get mad at them for spilling because I will be knocking things over just as much- if not more. 

"Dad! Can you get a towel? Mom spilled her coffee again." 

 If you went through my closet you would have a hard time find a single article that does not have a coffee smudge, stain, blurb, squiggle, splotch or dousing. However, please do not go through my closet because that is creepy...

 I really try though, I do. I try very hard not to spill. It's just that mugs are cooler that tumblers. I know I shouldn't bring the mug in the car but holding a warm mug is like a tiny hug. And when I do have to-go mugs they often spill...on their own... without any real help from me. Also, Starbucks mugs are as tricky as their mascot (which is a Siren, by the way... who are the most diabolical, twisted sluts is mythology...), I swear the mouth hole moves. One minute it's right in front of me, I go to take a sip and BAM! it's on the other side of the cup, drizzling new stains on my innocent, impressionable, untainted, new white shorts. 

I like to the think of it as personality art. 

I am a painting. Coffee stains provide a realism to my art that really can't be replicated. That abstract touch that really captures who I am in. 

It's beautiful, okay? 

So if you see me, and if you see the coffee stain that I guarantee is somewhere on my attire, don't point it out, just appreciate the work of art.

The Pirates' Life For Me

  I recently went to Dutch country. Pella, Iowa is apparently famous for it's tulips, dutch letters and bologna. I liked the quaint feel the little town square had. There were at least five bakeries within a few blocks of each other. And large windmills, don't forget the windmills. My parents wanted to spend the day with me so we walked around the square, sampling beef jerky and smelling the fresh bread. Also, there was coffee involved. I mean, obviously.
  We started out with lunch at Smokey Row Coffeehouse: cheeseburger chowder in a bread bowl and a bottle of root beer to go with that, thank you. I liked Smokey Row because the inside matched the name. It was a little dark inside and it felt like something you would find inside a ski resort... I mean, something I would imagine you would find in a ski resort... I wouldn't actually know since I've never been skiing.
  Anyway, it was relaxed, and to me, one of the top priorities of a coffee shop should be to make the customers feel relaxed. You should be able to stay for hours studying or having a sweet conversation with friends or just sitting and staring at you coffee in peace.
  Coffee relaxes me. I want everyone to be able to experience it's
warming, soothing power.
  The rest of the day was spent sampling, wandering, discovering all the wonders of the tulip town(which actually didn't have that many tulips due to recent snow). By the end of the day I came away with chocolate-covered espresso beans, wafflestroople, a mug, a t-shirt and some lovely film photos.
  My favorite part about towns like this are the small businesses, the bakeries, boutiques, bookstores, coffee houses, antique shops ect... They all hold special and unique atmospheres. Every once in a while you find a place that you just sort of fit into, almost like it's alive and understands who you are. And that little shop or eatery or bookstore becomes a part of you or you a part of it, I'm never really sure.
  I've recently been around a little girl who has a wild imagination. Upon meeting her she told me she was a scientist, detective, and princess. I informed her that I was a pirate.
But in some silly, poetic way, I think I actually am. I scour the country in search of metaphorical gems, gems that sparkle and speak and breathe and make good coffee.
So anchors away, my friends!

                           

A Photo Journey

  Taking pictures with a film camera is an exciting endeavor. You never really know what you are going to get. Each role of film is a precious thing, something you want to cherish and use carefully. Film costs money, getting them developed cost money, buying new batteries cost money. So when I get the pictures back and they aren't what I was hoping for I am filled with a sad sense of failure. But when I get them back and they are crisp and unique, I feel accomplished. My journey was not for naught. I didn't wake up to catch the sunrise for nothing. I didn't make my roommate pull over the car for nothing. I didn't stand in the same position for five minutes just to get the right face for nothing. 

There is a lot of risk involved, but in the end, when I get pictures like the ones below, it makes it all worth it. 

  I like to post the pictures without words to interrupt them so that when you look through them it an experience. You come with me on the adventures I went on to get these shots. This collection is not in order of how they were taken or where they were taken, but rather how I feel they flow best. The pictures are not incredible and I do not claim to be any sort of photographer, but each picture is a story and it can be whatever story your see or want to see in it. So good luck and enjoy the view. (: