Tag Archives: Coffee


12 May

For some reason, this year more than any other in recent memory, I am looking forward to summer.  Not just a passive wishing, though, no.  This is a full bodied yearn, a fervent desire, almost palpable.  My insides are happy when the sun falls through the fresh green leaves, and when I can walk outside in the afternoon to warm temperatures.  I can’t even think about cold weather, or snow, or ice.  We had enough of that this year, and I think I’ve gotten my own personal taste of the North, and thank you, but no thank you.  I’m a Southern girl, through and through – no more ice.  Ever.  Except in my sweet tea.

Moving beyond the simple meteorological aspect of these upcoming months, I am also rather excited for the events the summer will bring.  From wild and crazy nannying (where I will get in the pool and get a tan), to reviewing books, to teaching a dear friend how to play her guitar, this summer is going to, quite simply, rock.

I’m happy here, in this little condo in eastern Sandy Springs.  The air is on, as are the lights, and dinner is awaiting the arrival of the boy while tainting the house with the smell of spicy sausage and dirty rice.  We’re getting cable and internet installed on Saturday, and mom and I have been exercising every night, which makes me feel an interesting kind of energized.

It’s interesting to me how we spend our evenings.  Ry watches shows or plays games on the desktop in the bedroom, while I settle on the left side of the couch, laptop in lap and / or book in hand.  For example, tonight Ry is watching Craig Ferguson (interviewing the actor who plays Sheldon Cooper on The Big Bang Theory, one of our favorite shows) and I’m settled into the couch cushions, a  new Word doc open and about to write a book review.  I write my reviews in fun fonts; I pick the one that reflects the tone of the book.  This most current book was about a circus, so the script is stylish, wavy, with flourishes here and there.  In any case, the coffee is brewing and the lights are all on, and I’m loving this life right now.  It’s peaceful, seemingly right on track, and while nothing is perfect I’m feeling pretty damn close.

And…my birthday.  Is.  In.  Three.  Weeks.  Three weeks from today, actually, and I can’t wait.  Lots of fun things planned, three days worth, actually, because one only turns 25 once!  That day will also mark the commencement of my new, freshly improved daisyflyover, a daisyflyover in which I, Laura, will write every day.  YES, you read that correctly, dear readers, it’s my own personal 365-day project.  I’m finally jumping on the bandwagon.  We will see how this goes.



17 Sep

Happy sweet 16! Or, in other words, it’s my 16th post, which makes my dear blog one of those surly teens, who stalks about the house with its iPod buds permanently stuck in its ears, kicking at things, scowling. But I prefer to think of her as one of those slightly dorky but very nice girls, who sometimes wear glasses and reads a lot and can’t wait to get to college.

In light of being 16 weeks into my 24th year, or perhaps being 36 weeks away from being able to say I’m a quarter of a century old, I’ve decided to write about something very basic.

This is my desk. It used to belong to my mom, until I moved out and took it / she gave it to me. I used to do my homework on it in elementary school, and I think there are some pen or marker spots in the top drawer. Nevertheless, it is mine now (I think!), and as we all know, the desk of a writer is a very important thing. It can’t be too big, because then our ideas would be too spread out to be useful. But it can’t be too small, either, because then we couldn’t cross our legs underneath, and uncomfortable sitting just doesn’t make for good writing. The ideal size is cozy, with some drawers and hiding places to put things, if only to fish them out when you’re stuck in the land of writers block and are avoiding the page altogether. You can’t write when your thoughts are flying everywhere; the writer’s desk has to be a sort of home within the home, a place you can go to unfold your thoughts slowly, piece by piece, and lay them out out on an uncluttered, non-judgemental surface.

On my desk? My Paris box, which makes me feel all sorts of nice whenever I look at it. A picture of my family, which is, of course, the most important, as they keep me in food, entertainment, and good material. Pens, of which any good writer should be in abundant supply. There is always a spot for coffee, since there is always coffee. And finally, one of those little paper organizers stuffed with cards my girlfriends have sent me over the years, ones that always make me smile and make a note to call the sender later in the week. These things cushion me, they surround me, they make me who I am, and therefore, make my writing better.

So this is it! This is where the brilliance will hopefully one day spring from. I can’t wait for fall to really start, so I can sit here, drink my coffee, and watch all the leaves cover the driveway. Maybe I’ll be a real writer soon.


28 Jul

It’s Wednesday morning, and I’ve been up and awake since 7:15am. There were plans of an oil change, doctor visits, a sort of rushy morning. However, there were leftovers from the paving project last night on my street, and they were blocking me into my driveway. Literally, a giant flatbed, sent to pick up and take away all the fancy paving equipment, blocking me into my abode.


Instead of running errands and doing boring things, I’ve found myself taking it slow, sitting with my coffee, watching the sun come up over the neighborhood. I’m on my third cup, the cat and dog have been fed, I don’t have anything to do until about 11am. The air conditioning has been on all night, and the house is the perfect kind of coolness, and I’m falling back in love with my house, with my neighborhood, with everything that’s in between these four walls, with everything that is going to happen in the coming months. It’s amazing the simple, unexpected things that make a day special.


7 Jul

There is nothing more exciting to me than a blank page. I stare at one every week around this time, tossing my ideas around in my head and trying to come up with the perfect opening sentence.

I’m back where I started this week, in terms of location – there is a Starbucks down the street from campus, and while I hate their coffee and food, I used to come here every week while I was in school. I used to sit here for hours and hours, writing papers or stories or the occasional song, because I could never get access to the Internet which meant I could get stuff done without distraction.

There were lots of distractions, however, but the good kind. I always sat in this one chair, far back in the corner. My stuff was spread out all around me (much like today), and a friend once told me I resembled a tiny fort, all closed off from the world with my iPod and laptop and coffee and books and bag. I liked it that way. I could write, without interruption. I could watch people, drink my coffee, be completely anti-social and it was ok because everyone else was, too. I did my best writing at times like that. Maybe that says something about my personality, and I won’t argue with a free interpretation, because I feel like myself when I’m writing and when I’m immersed in a crowd, anonymous to the rest of the world, no matter what people may say to discourage my habit.

Because there is something about coffee shops that appeal to me. There is nothing I like more than taking my laptop, getting some coffee, and chilling all afternoon, tucked away in a corner. In the summer, it’s a nice break from the humidity and a chance to drink a fun summertime drink (lemonade? sweet tea?). And in the winter, it’s a perfect place to be warm and cozy and have nice things like hot chocolate or cider. Especially during Christmastime, with the lights and nice smells and busy people and early nighttime and decorations and Christmas music. It makes me feel at home. But my love of seasons and holidays and the reasons for it is another blog post, one which I will perhaps write next week.