9:30 AM. The clocks tell me that life SHOULD be moving at this mid-morning half hour. As the pleasant morning habits are over -- newspaper, oatmeal breakfast, e-mail and shower -- I am compelled to get something started.
It is Sunday, so the standard as to what starting something is, is lax. In my case, I decide with glee that this means writing in a coffee shop and buying groceries. So here I am.
* * *
My favorite barista, T, isn't around. I will receive no banter on what book I happy to have tucked under my arm. Instead, I am met by two cheery faces inquring about how I'd like my mocha. A quick scan of the store and I see the usual coffee-shop characters: student, shoulders hunched and head bowed, high-lighting a photocopied reading, mp3 player in his ears; two baseball moms in their blue uniforms & white shoes, perfectly dressed and no grass stains in sight; 20-something guy with stubble, scribbling on a pad, in jeans, t-shirt & sandals, accompanied by appropriate liberal minded-book and backpack.
None of these coffee people will exchange words with each other this morning. What anchors them into this modern-day community space is the jazz music, soft recessed-ceiling lights and hanging lamps.
* * *
Having read the first few chapter of Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma, I examine all food labels for insiduous insertions of subsidized industrial corn: maltodextrin, fructose, corn syrup, xantham gum, MSG, cornstarch, etc. I determine that passing on Lee Kum Kee's Black Bean Garlic Sauce is too great a sacrifice for keeping my food-conscience clear. I figure that my food karma will balance out, since I'll be cooking tofu and mushrooms with it.
A lady offers me a free-taste of chicken nuggets as I walk through the frozen meats section. Should I make a scene and recoil in horror?
I buy many interesting vegetables, wrapped in a lot of plastic. All purchases can go into my backpack or over-priced canvas bags conveniently sold by the grocery store.
All virtue has a price.
* * *
Back at home and my two useful siblings are still asleep.
(to be continued)
