Day 7 of The Year Apart (and Sometimes Not)

Davis sent Charles this prompt:

"Wed Jan 10:

Take a photo from yesterday and write 1-3 paragraphs of prose about it."

Here are the results!

Davis

The moment I met matcha, I knew we would fall in love. It was a match made in Maru*. As a long time devotee to the powers of rich, creamy espresso shots in the morning and, subsequently, a long time sufferer of unnecessary anxieties, I knew that my relationship to coffee was relatively tenuous. I knew that, no matter how good it may feel going down, this stuff I crave is also the source of a great deal of mild neuroses, unexpected bowel movements, and nervous physical tremors. But much like when you break up with a long time lover and slowly realize how entwined they were with the nature of your everyday life, I knew that saying farewell to my drug of choice would be complicated.

Every morning I wake up and I head to a coffee shop to get coffee and to write. It’s a ritual, it’s one of the few consistent elements of my life, and, having been an urban dweller for several years now, it has gone on for years. It’s how many of us extraverts enjoy our alone time: publicly. A coffee shop is the perfect place to begin my day. If I get there early enough, nobody is having loud conversations, my fellow patrons are reading or simply sipping hot beverages as we all, baristas and customers alike, collectively blink our way into consciousness. If I were to give up coffee, that sweet, thick mud for the mind, I figured I’d give up the very foundation of my everyday contentment. At the same time, however, I knew that this divine drink was stripping me of my natural energy and ability to keep my cool.

One day, as I waited my turn to ask for “an espresso for here, please,” I saw a man order matcha. I immediately recalled an interaction I had with a barista at another shop down the way. She had switched to matcha for similar reasons. I asked her how it was going and she said she felt foggy, but happy — she had only just started— and had heard that it’s a great move for us lightweights. My curiosity piqued, and when it came to be my turn, I asked the barista there why someone would choose matcha. He described to me how the green tea was made in a ritualistic fashion, how it was less harsh than coffee and, since it contained tannins like wine, it actually had both a caffeinating and a mellowing affect on its drinkers. I was sold. Though I would miss my ristretto with that oak-like tint, I would move my way up into the realm of the leaves! No flop sweats while journaling, no jitters, no pacing outside of bathrooms. Better yet, with a bit of warm oat milk and a touch of sweetener, the stuff is delicious. I still vacation in espresso land from time to time, but when I know what’s good for me, I’m a matcha man.

*Maru is a coffee shop in Hillhurst Ave.

Charles

When you’re in the market for land, they don’t describe it as “used.” “Acreage for sale, rich soil, like new!” When Uncle Jeffrey showed us the parcel he’d acquired with his saved-up VA disability stipend, you could almost see the other stories flying around the place. A little hodge-podge home with one whole side rotting away, like the guy built it and just forgot to put sealant on the westward-facing wood. An ironwood trough with what seemed like railroad spikes locking it into a prideful non-decay. A pile of rusted farmstuffs housed in the shell of a doorless barn. The skeletal remains of a greenhouse, poles picked like carrion. And the row of sunflowers, petals a vibrant lemon gold, shining for God or anyone who knows Her.