Whenever I am in my favorite café, I must always consult a timepiece-or a friend with one- to know the time. I noticed a while back that there isn’t a clock to be had in the whole place- not on the wall behind the counter, not in the doorway, not even in the bathroom.
Perhaps this is because they don’t feel like having one more thing for which to replace batteries. But I tend to think there’s more to it.
TS Eliot once said “I have measured out my life in coffee spoons.”
This is a beautiful thought- since situations where you would use a spoon to add sweetness to your coffee (rather than a tiny packet or a pour-forth jar) are often associated with unique moments, or particularly intimate parts of our routine.
Observe a suggested scale:
- Reading the paper in our pajamas: one spoon.
- Trying to be One of the Guys: no spoons
- First, awkward afternoon date: two spoons
- Cheating on a diet: one half spoon
- Second, evening date: 3 spoons at least
Countless stories from my life have coffee as a prop, as part of a setting, or even as a central topic of conversation. And the environment of most any coffeehouse: soft, warm, inviting- is the perfect catalyst for the blending of memories with the present. It is not uncommon to sit down in one with a book your only company, only to look up a while later to realize it is now dusk and you are surrounded by chattering friends-old and new- who have made their way in.
There are places for timeliness: sporting events, shuttle launches, and life-threatening emergencies come to mind. But sugar is scooped into coffee in entirely different circumstances.
In a world obsessed with speed. punctuality, and efficiency, it is nice to know that there such little havens; places where one can still properly lose track of time, spoon by spoon.
