It's pathetic when the joy of my second grandchild being born today is overshadowed by the news that the coffee shop I have loved for 16 years is closing its doors forever this Sunday. But you know what they always say: "When God closes a coffee shop, He opens a uterus." Well, maybe it's not exactly that, but it's something like it. So as I mourn the closing of our local Tully's coffee shop, I am also celebrating the birth of my daughter's first child, a boy born by emergency C-section in California at 2:40 a.m. I'm going on two hours of sleep, so I really needed that last Tully's latte. Yum! Bye bye, Tully's (sniff sniff), hello.....................Robotaki?
Actually, the baby doesn't have a name yet and might not for a day or two. Since she never wanted to know ahead of time the sex of her child, she decided she'd think of the baby as a little robot (even though I assured her babies are never ever robots). From that the robot became Robotaki, and that's what we've all called him. If my daughter had had a girl, she would have been called Amelia. I love that name and relished the thought of being able to say it often. My son-in-law is Greek, and he gets to pick out a Greek name for the boy. Have you seen a list of Greek names? (This is where you might say, "They're all Greek to me." Of course they are, if you're referring to lists of Greek names.) There are lots of letters in them. Their last name has nine letters, so how rough is it going to be on this kid learning how to spell and write out his name? At least his birth date is sequential and easy to remember: 10-11-12. I love that. His parents are both math geniuses, and I suspect he will be too. He better be good at writing long names as well.
So that's all good, but this coffee shop closing, not so good. Sixteen years is a long time. I go there every Thursday morning at 8 a.m. to meet with three friends. Two of them are retired teachers, and they taught two of my children for many years. Even when I lived away for 11 years, any time I came home on a trip I would meet them in Tully's, and when I moved back three years I took up where I left off. I meet other friends there too, and my husband and I also go there on occasion, not just for the lattes but also for the ambiance. I order the same thing every time: "Grande Latte, please," I say, but then all of the baristas know me and often stop me by asking, "The usual?"
What is it about someone saying, "The usual?" that makes a person feel so good inside? You feel recognized, known, like you matter. It is a sense of 'belonging.' Belonging to a coffee shop? I know, it sounds weird, but it's true. I have a rewards card!! And this is how they reward me, by closing the doors this Sunday and never opening them again?
So I went to say goodbye to Tully's today. My friends and I hugged the baristas, who were crying. One has been working there since it opened in 1996. The other one took a picture of the four of us around 'our' table. I sat in Tully's once at another table with my daughter 14 years ago. She was home from college on her spring break, and while we sat sipping our coffee she was working on writing out a song for her then upcoming senior recital prior to receiving her degree in composition.
Today my daughter produced something much better than a song. She's written oodles of compositions, and none of them took nine months to produce. I won't be able to hold my new grandson for a couple of weeks, but I tell you, he is already playing his song on my heartstrings!
So welcome to this world, with incredible joy, Robotaki. And, sadly, RIP Tully's.
P.S. BVG's FOREVER!
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