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June 17, 2005
the halcyon days...
i've been spreading misinformation.
people in the coffee shop have sometimes asked exactly what "halcyon" means. i had always known it as a shade of blue, no doubt from some remembered paint chip or stupid marketing for a really icky car paint color. and this is what i've been telling people. they've seemed happy about my answer, but i've been wrong.
halcyon has been on my mind a lot lately, and this morning, i was curious to see how the dictionary would define a color.
as it turns out, halcyon not only an adjective, but a noun, referring to a kingfisher, especially one of the genus halcyon. it was also "a fabled bird, identified with the kingfisher, that was supposed to have had the power to calm the wind and the waves while it nested on the sea during the winter solstice."
and, so, halcyon is also used to describe calm and peacefulness and tranguility, as well as to describe prosperity, the golden era or years.
and so it has been for me, to an extent. working at halcyon, at the coffeehouse, in some way, however briefly, calmed the wind and waves within, while bringing a little prosperity, as well.
humanity in so many of its forms flows in and out, in small waves, then tidally, as the night and its promises real and imagined exert their pull. older men congregate to play chess, nursing their whiskey and sodas, pondering, sliding pieces, tapping the timer.
gaggles of giggling and swishing sorority girls, 20 year-olds with gold american express cards, come to the counter, laziness, feigned carelessness and coquettishness portrayed with the shuffle of flip-flops. they order smores and bubble teas, they leave monumental and sticky messes behind and often don't tip at all.
some regular homeless guys come in. we give them coffee, a kind word as time allows, and even a surly kid gives a guy a day old scone or muffin. it sucks to have to turn the body slightly when pouring their coffee, watching for any motion over the tip bucket.
the occasional rumble of a street bike, or well-tuned voice of a ducati's potential energy foretells the regulars in leather jackets, or the guy that always looks a bit out of place in his leather vest on sunday mornings. he sits alone in the back and sips his coffee and stares outside. sometimes he moves to the front, by the windows.
students rearrange tables into library-like rows and spend hours nursing a hot tea and poring over books.
a time-lapse film would show little blossoms of light exploding through the days and nights, notebook computers opening like blooms, giving rather than receiving light, bathing programmers and businesspeople and students and aimless surfers in cool blue.
there's something peaceful and calming to the work, at times, in the ritual of pulling the filter off the machine, slapping it a couple of times to dump the damp, spent grounds into the little receptacle, slapping the lever on the grinder to release fresh espresso, level, tamp, knock the loose grounds from the edges, tamp, twist it into the machine, and hit the button.
frothing and foaming the milk continues to challenge me. i play with the angle and depth of the steaming wand, trying to get the milk swirling just right, getting the wand tip to cavitate enough to create froth, i watch the milk expand, i imagine it sweetening slightly, and i hold my hand to the side of the metal pitcher as long as i can to get it to the right temperature.
i like the moments, when i feel enough space to step up to the counter and banter with the customers. only a couple of times have i revealed the alter ego, the attorney thing. i feel maskless, i feel like i've finally, in some small measure, taken control of who i am.
the diversion of identity is not without a downside. there's the woman that comes in every saturday morning, with her sweet old dog waiting outside patiently for her as she gets her coffee. i chat with her and pet her dog every time. she's got a beautiful and honest smile. last weekend, i asked her out. she said sure, that she'd leave her number with me before she left. she kept half of that deal - she did leave...
there are any number of reasons it might have gone the way it did, but even 19 year-old frank said that i'd probably have had more luck if she met me as a lawyer than as a barrista. maybe, maybe not. probably. if so, then her lack of interest is best for both of us.
finally, of course, i love the people i work with. i push myself to perform for my little team, because it makes things go easier, it minimizes the stress, it impacts the tips at the end of the night that they rely on as their income.
but the cost lately has been a little too high. in a typical week, i work my 40 hours as an attorney, then seven hours saturday, seven hours sunday, six hours monday night after work, and six hours wednesday after work. 66 hours a week. combine it with thursday nights coaching, and early tuesday nights running, and i haven't been writing, i haven't run or gone to the gym as much, and i don't play basketball at all anymore.
the fatigue is wearing on me - i dread my day job already, and i don't want to dread a job that was supposed to be a release for me, but i've started to. after a week with my father in town, taking off of both jobs, but wearing myself a bit thin with activity, tomorrow morning and sunday morning and the sunday afternoon father's day gig loom ahead, making the weekend unwelcoming.
so, i'll be pulling it back. maybe not quitting completely, but cutting back to one or two days a week. it does make me a bit sad - it's silly to have to choose one job over the other, and to have to choose poorly, in a way. but the halcyon, the mythical bird, has flown the nest, and the seas are just getting rougher here. i gotta seek calm elsewhere.
Posted by Rob at June 17, 2005 09:03 AM
Comments
If I remember correctly (and I might not, 'cause I've been drinking), Halcyon is also the name of a sleeping pill.
Posted by: Eileen at July 8, 2005 08:44 PM