English: Breakfast with bread, butter, jam, fried eggs, bacon, tomato, orange juice and coffee. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There at the white with red stripe enamel table and red leatherette chairs, our granddaddy sat with us, playing Checkers or Blackjack, never for money and always for fun. Daddy Evans always looked happy.

When I was around nine or 10 years old, he and I were playing Blackjack at that kitchen table one time. I held 19 in my hand. Still, just for fun, I asked for another card, taking that wild child-like chance, to reach the magic number, 21. That time, Daddy Evans dealt out an Ace. We both laughed and smiled.

The little General Electric refrigerator sat behind us, cooling things, like milk in real glass bottles, Meadow Gold, pure, and cold, the way glass bottles keep milk so deliciously cold. That little refrigerator had legs and a rectangular body and something round on top.

It was shaped liked a person, holding many good things, like the milk in glass bottles and real butter. Our granddad liked real butter, not margarine.

Mama Evans, Daddy Evans’ wife (our paternal grandmother) made real homemade bread, in a long oval-shaped wooden bowl. That bowl is still in our family.

It was so warm and inviting, smelling that bread baking. Our favorite time was when the bread was just out of the oven, with the butter softened already, at room temperature. That warm homemade bread with butter melting…just imagine it. It’s almost too good to be true, isn’t it?

But we put the soft real butter on Mama Evans’ homemade bread, just the right texture. Mama Evans cut the bread in thick slices, but not too thick, for the real butter. Such a completely wonderful memory, that warm bread, just out of the oven, with melting butter.

You could sit at the white enamel table with the red stripe and see out the kitchen window, where glorious pine trees stood and the roses Mama Evans loved, in so many colors…in a round garden, when it was spring or summer, years later. I remember the holidays most, when we went to our grandparents’ for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Mama and Daddy Evans loved the wild outdoors and the cultivated outdoors too. Daddy Evans built a miniature log cabin for Mama Evans, near their place. It was our place, too. They loved us. The little cabin was so delicate and pretty and subtle, like our Mama Evans, but strong and sturdy too, like our Daddy Evans.

Mama and Daddy Evans’ home, in Oxford, Alabama, was so wonderful, with knotted-pine paneling in the den and one pale green bedroom, with an eggshell-white, hand-crocheted, bedspread. The Singer sewing machine sat in the pastel yellow bedroom. The sewing machine wasn’t electric. Mama Evans used her foot to make it go. One time, Mama Evans made me a pink corduroy jumper and matching blouse. Another time, she made homemade cookies, when it was my turn to bring cookies to my Brownies (before Girl Scouts) meeting.

Every morning at our grandparent’s home, coffee perked from a shiny silver-like electric coffee pot, so elegant…with a long, curved spout, the aroma of coffee filling the rooms, which had real wood floors. Mama Evans collected elegant teacups.

Daddy Evans liked creamer in his coffee, later. We took turns spooning the powdery creamer into Daddy Evans’ hot coffee, watching that creamer dissolve, into peace and happiness and wild contentment.

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English: Two NYPD cops in a Dunkin Donuts on Houston Street in the East Village. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s Labor Day in the United States of America and some of us are working and some of us are playing and some of us are doing both—and isn’t that amazing, when people work and play together? Here’s hoping you have a good rest of Labor Day, wherever you happen to be or whatever you happen to be doing or not doing too. It’s all good and all not good, but we are making it!

This afternoon over at Lee University in Cleveland, Tennessee, things are humming right along. Today I treated myself by enjoying Dunkin’ Donuts for lunch, with Starbucks “Breakfast Blend” coffee. You can change your opinion for the better, given enough time sometimes. Used to, I thought other doughnuts (how do you spell doughnuts?) were better and many doughnuts are wonderful, but so are Dunkin’ Donuts. In the past, I avoided Starbucks coffee, since it seemed so strong, like it had been burned on a campfire.

And yet, I craved doughnuts today and coffee…with that little snack shop near the Lee library circulation desk just sitting there. So I went upstairs and treated myself to the Starbucks coffee and Dunkin’ Donuts. The very kind lady at the counter suggested I get a cardboard sleeve for that tall super-hot coffee cup. Then she reached into the clear plastic doughnut case, where there were all kinds of Dunkin’ Donuts, with chocolate on top and filling in the middle and pink icing with sprinkles and it was all beautiful to behold, like food art just lined up, waiting for us to gaze and choose. I got two plain glazed Dunkins’ (wonderful name!) because some people are purists, whether it’s a hot dog just with mustard or a Dunkin’ just with glaze. (Those two Dunkin’ Donuts were so delicious, the just-right sweetness and fluffiness, mixed with the just-right strong but not bitter coffee).

Downstairs the people at the Help Desk helped me with something on the computer. The lady upstairs, by the way, told me I could use the microwave to heat up those doughnuts when I asked. “Warm goodness,” she said with such calm grace. Wasn’t that thoughtful of her? She didn’t have to be so friendly and so helpful, and neither did the people at the Help Desk, but they were—extra friendly and extra helpful this Labor Day. Isn’t it warm goodness when people are just plain kind to each other, without any real reason except finding a way to get along better in this old world?

If we could share some coffee and doughnuts here together right now, that would be good. We’ll work from a distance:) Look right there on the tan-colored sack. It says “O grams transfat” and “Dunkin’ Donuts” and “America Runs on Dunkin’.” That tall cardboard coffee cup beckons like a green and white siren call, just for you and just for me and people all over the world. It’s not like we can flirt with coffee and pastries every single day, but flirty food (let’s make sure it’s food:) sure is good once in a while, isn’t it?

It feels so good to be glad and to be grateful and here’s my hope that you can feel glad and grateful about even one little thing today. (It’s understandable if you can’t. Some things are just too painful for a while).

Hopefully, we can all meet here together again tomorrow, Lord willing. On the back of that tan sack, by the way, it says: “Please recycle this bag.” Let’s do that. Let’s do that all together. We can save one little thing somewhere. Happy Labor Day!

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Monsooned Malabar (Photo credit: ritchielee)

Conversation hums all around. A barista moves briskly. Customers relax in a neighborhood blend of friends and flavors.

I’m at the recently-opened Lasaters Coffee & Tea (http://www.lasaterscoffee.com) in the Cleveland-Bradley County Public Library, Cleveland, Tennessee.

This shop shines. Think wood, black leather, low lighting. The aroma of coffee. See thick shiny cups fired in earth tones. Listen while tall thermal tumblers speak strawberry red and lime green, blazing blue and subtle silver.

Look up and see the French Press coffee contraption you know your daughter would love for Christmas. Think of her favorite color and say that one. Imagine your son warming his hands over a campfire after unpacking your exquisite gift of India Monsooned Malabar.

Consider your friend and yourself too. Ponder the small possibilities and sheer delights of caramel mocha; toasted marshmallow latte; gourmet hot chocolate; blended spice chai; custom fruit smoothies and iced white chocolate mocha. Or  maybe it’s black iced black tea or Rooibos with a roast beef and Provolone sandwich. Maybe the Southwest grilled chicken wrap or the turkey and Swiss rosemary bread panini.

A customer orders the turkey and Swiss, encouraging the baristo to include the buttery flavor when he grills the sandwich. With joy, that customer anticipates the melted marvel.

A man wearing Lasaters classic black slacks and shirt explains how refreshment and community often happen over a cup of coffee.  He turns to help another friend.  In shades of sunrise and sunset, shop lights glow.

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