Java Love: Do You Love Your Coffee Shop?

Java Love 

It’s natural to love your coffee shop. That place where you get that first cup of love in the morning to stimulate your endorphin love humors to warm the blood for work or other human activities. That “cup of ambition,” that “eye-opener” or “cobweb buster.” Even if your coffee shop is an impersonal Starbucks, you still get the thrill.

My coffee shop, at least the one I wrote about in Java Love, was a very special place. I’m not kidding. You would have loved it. Everyone did.

Java Love is based on the original, Java Sun coffee shop on Atlantic Ave in Marblehead, Massachusetts. 

Marblehead is a magical town. Anyone who lives here, along its rocky shore and among its historic homes, will tell you – there’s something powerful, even enchanted, going on here amongst the layers of history and bustling everyday modern life. At the very least, Marblehead is always beautiful. The light is brilliant or subtle, the sea smoke rises off the harbor, the green light of the Marblehead Lighthouse shines over the rippling water, the moon sits low in the night sky over the silhouettes of historic homes and old growth trees. Though many professional people have moved here, a good many people still make their living from fishing the sea. Many Marblehead people sail for pleasure and the harbor fills each summer with sailboats and yachts from all over the world. It’s also a sporting town with baseball or soccer games on the town field, golfing, windsurfing, kayaking, canoeing, paddle boarding, running races for charity, sailing races for cups; it’s mindboggling how active the town is, and then there’s the festivals, in summer, the Marblehead Arts Festival, in winter, the Christmas Walk when Santa Claus arrives by boat.

So, picture it, the original Java Sun café in beautiful Marblehead. The shop has changed hands twice since then, and many other changes were made with each new owner. Each time the café would become more and more ordinary, not significantly different from the hundreds of other cafés that pop up everywhere, but, in 1995, Java Sun was unique. Its sign was a bright yellow sun surrounded by Africana lettering that spelled, "Java Sun, The Best Coffees Under The Sun." John, a pilot, who had traveled the world and missed the rich coffees he'd enjoyed around the globe, founded Java Sun. He breezed in occasionally, but, mostly, the café was run by a young couple, Christine and Mark, rather like kids babysitting for other kids while Mommy and Daddy were off and away. It could be a wild scene. The kids who worked behind the counter had colored hair - not the usual colors blonde or brunette - but aqua, fuchsia, purple or scarlet. Their noses or eyebrows were often pierced and tattoos covered their arms.

The original Java Sun roasted the coffee beans in-house. The roaster was big and gorgeous: bright red enamel, copper, chrome and it dominated half the café space. A tall young man named Brendon manned the elegant machine, roasting for hours. Burlap sacks of beans from Kenya, Columbia, Sumatra, or Yemen, to name a few of the exotic places, were piled up next to the roaster. The wood floor would get dark with coffee dust and the rich aroma of roasting beans filled the café and wafted out the door and through the walls, often to the chagrin of neighbors who complained about the fierce smell. I loved it. I often came home smelling of foreign lands. The customers were from all walks of life: moms and kids, teachers, car mechanics, fishermen, freelance writers, poets, artists, musicians, herbalists, bankers, lawyers, doctors, real estate agents, accountants and, occasionally, celebrities. Marblehead was often chosen as the location for Hollywood movies, so it wasn’t too surprising to see a famous actor or director sitting at a table having a chai latte. Everyone said Java Sun was the best part of their day, often, remarking, “it’s all downhill from here.”

The place was not fancy. There was a hole in the floor in front of the bathroom you had to leap over. But, the back windows, usually left open even in winter because of the intense heat from the baking and which you looked out over the barista’s shoulder as you ordered your coffee, opened to a rose garden filled with songbirds. The front windows looked out on to a busy main street alive with constant action of people and pets, children, babies in carriages, nursery school teachers pulling toddlers in red wagons, bicyclers, runners, skateboarders, roller-bladers, cars, and boats on trailers passing by. The fruit and vegetable stand across the street was vividly beautiful, as were the jewelry and clothing stores. Happy flags flapped from each shop and friendly doggie bowls of water were placed out at each front door.

I always sat in the corner where I could watch the action. The constantly changing activity never failed to stimulate my mind. At first, I wrote by hand in marble notebooks, but, as technology progressed, I worked on a laptop. The sight of me working in the window became somewhat iconic: at the time, not too many folks had a computer at home, let alone a laptop in a café. Of course, I hoped to write undisturbed, but I was often interrupted by people asking me what I was writing. I would tell them, and they’d be even more baffled. “A novel.” “A screenplay for the X-Files.” (“What’s the X-Files?” “Well, it’s about two FBI agents who try to solve paranormal cases.”) Or, if I were freelancing: “Copy for an extreme website.” “A travel fax/newsletter.” Hmmm. What was that again?

I preferred to be quiet. I loved to experience the people on my own terms, quietly. I loved to zone on them, who they were, what they did. Christine was gregarious and maternal; she always introduced people or spoke loudly to them asking personal questions as if to include the whole café, which was already a boisterous, free-for-all, more of a hang-out, really, than a coffee shop. Before long, I realized I was "getting" a poem for each person as he or she entered the café. "Oh, no," I thought, "that would be too many poems!" But, that is exactly what happened. I wrote a poem for each person who inspired me. Some of them didn't. But, mostly, I was enthralled.

I was in Java Love.


Afterward:

Everyone loved their poems. After reading her poem, Maine Sarah clutched her heart. Alisha laughed with delight. The Mechanic was told by one of the patrons that he HAD to read his poem. Other people went quite mad over the Mechanic’s poem, because the man’s arms were so massively built, but he seemed to take it in stride. Christine said I was her family, which was exactly right. Another woman, a dancer, was thrilled to read that she had “legs of wings.” The poems received a lot of warm smiles. People remarked, “No one has ever done anything like this for me before,” or “I never thought I’d have a poem written about me.” My favorite compliment came from the young man who papered his bedroom walls with the pages of Java Love. No literary prize could ever be so marvelous and rewarding. The title came about one quiet evening when I was the only customer in the café. Two of the kids were saying how much they loved each other. John walked through just then and smiled at me as he opened the door to leave. “It’s Java Looove!” I explained, and he laughed, approvingly.

from Java Love: Poems of a Coffeehouse:

The Mechanic

Sometimes,
when there’s nothing
left to believe in
you can believe in

his arms

©Patricia Goodwin, 2018

Patricia Goodwin is the author of When Two Women Die, about Marblehead legends and true crime and its sequel, Dreamwater, about the Salem witch trials and the vicious 11-year-old pirate Ned Low. Holy Days is her third novel, about the sexual, psychological seduction of Gloria Wisher and her subsequent transformation. Telling Time By Apples, And Other Poems About Life On The Remnants of Olde Humphrey Farme, illustrated by the author, and Java Love: Poems of a Coffeehouse are Patricia's latest poetry books.

REINVENTION = HOPE

The first thing I saw Tuesday morning when I woke up and turned on the laptop was that Robin Williams had killed himself. I passed Denial and went right into Anger. What the fuck is going on? Philip Seymour Hoffman and now another dear genius? I guess on paper, intellectually, I agree that anyone has the right to kill himself or herself. But, emotionally, I’m hurting more than I realize. I just can’t shake my sadness at the waste of such creative, vibrant lives.

I don’t write this post lightly. I never write lightly, even if I make fun of myself. It is not easy for me to say these things. And it is especially hard to come out with these truths in the face of our shared loss in the deaths, both very much suicides, of Robin Williams and Philip Seymour Hoffman.

The idea of just not wanting to be here any more, the quality of life issue, has gotten me down more than once. Who wants to be in this world where people cannot stop killing each other? Yesterday, I saw a picture of a toddler with three rifles pointed to his head. Who cares what is was about or which side was which? Who wants to live in that world? It’s horrifying! To say it’s depressing is an understatement. (This photo turned out to be posed. It’s still disgusting. And, since we know atrocities like this pose are actually happening, the posing seems both moot and representative.)

I get depressed because the bees are dying or because Bill and Melinda Gates have invested in the Svalbard Global Seed Vault along with Monsanto Corporation, the Rockefeller Foundation, Syngenta Foundation and the Government of Norway to create a doomsday seed collection, when I know they are really busy destroying our food supply and cornering the world’s seeds for some kind of horror movie agenda. Now, that’s depressing. There are moments in the middle of the night when I really do panic, not for myself, but for mankind. For God. For Nature. Nature doesn’t care; she’ll adjust, even if she has to turn earth into the moon for a while. But, God. The loss of all He created? All He gave us? Such an act is beyond evil. I feel so sad about it, so very sad. The only thing I can do is to continue to champion organics and hope organics can survive. But, I don’t get depressed. I fight. I feel a very powerful sense of responsibility to keep on. As a writer and an artist, I must go on. I believe in the responsibility of the artist – to his talent, to God who gave him his talent, to the people who love him - to keep on - to never, ever squander his gift, not on drugs, not on laziness, not on fear. Not on depression.

When I look at celebrities, people we think “have it all,” people who have “made it,” the severe suffering and panic is obvious: they are people who stuff their faces or breasts with plastic or some other substance foreign to the human body; starve themselves in a land of plenty; workout till their muscles and veins strain out of their arms and legs; shoot heroin; shoplift; drive fast; guzzle pills or alcohol and limp off to rehab over and over. I can feel how lonely many celebrities are, especially geniuses like Williams and Hoffman. Depression, again, seems like an understatement.

However, as a macro, I know that depression is quite often the result of dehydration and constipation. In the coffee shop I go to, one of the kids who works there told me, “I used to get so depressed after drinking the coffee (dehydrating) until I started drinking a tall glass of ice water along with it. Then, I felt completely different.” Just in case you thought a kid with colored hair and a nose ring couldn’t teach you anything. Water is the only liquid that can hydrate you. Prolonged subtle dehydration, that is, not getting enough water every day for a long time, from drinking too much alcohol or other dehydrating liquids such as coffee or tea, soda or mineral water, working too hard, traveling, forced-air environments, smoking, medication side-effects, stress or - just plain not drinking enough water - can interfere with the function of the body’s organs causing problems that may be attributed to other causes and treated with more medications. Problems like muscle spasms, hamstring injuries, heat exhaustion, dizziness, heart palpitations, nausea, weakness, lightheadedness, kidney stones, rashes, gout, even dementia have been noted in people who do not get enough water. 

Robin Williams would have been the first one to rant on depression being caused by constipation. He would have made it funny, though it’s not funny. Constipation is brought on by the American diet of too much sugar, meat, saturated fats, trans fats, dairy, white flour, baked goods and salt in combination with lack of exercise, not drinking enough water and chemicals and drugs of all kinds, whether prescribed medications or recreational. The more medications your doctor prescribes for your depression or for other health problems, such as Williams' heart medications, the more chance you have of being constipated and depressed. Medications make your intestines lax; in turn, you feel heavy and burdened. You have a hard time getting “fired-up” about things. Reinvention seems impossible, while, in reality, reinvention is ALWAYS possible.

We all know about the endorphins released by exercise. Endorphins create positive feelings in our minds and bodies. And I’m really not preaching when I say that exercise can erase depression. I know Williams had a difficult heart surgery which he himself said was so traumatic, he found himself, in recovery, weepy and vulnerable instead of strong and powerful. My husband had heart surgery and he has made lots of healthy changes since. I've seen my husband's improvement first hand and it is very inspiring. I am 63, Robin Williams’ age when he died. I am overweight. I hated to exercise – until I did – now I cannot do without the sense of strength exercising gives me in my muscles – in my legs, my belly – I can feel power in my waist when I move, a little push from inside pushing me forward, more energy, more strength, encouragement, power, the opposite of depression. I can now get out of bed without suddenly grabbing my back or tottering on unsteady legs. I was getting to the point where I could not turn in bed, not from the weight, but from complications from the weight – muscle cramping, poor circulation, weakness. That’s depressing. Most people would give up. But, as a macro, I knew, I didn’t want to go backward. I had some bad habits that were bringing me down. Oh, yes, even macros can make mistakes. The only way was forward. I started to exercise, just a little, then more and more, and the rewards were - and are - greater as the exercise increases. Not just energy, but good positive energy from the good, positive functioning of the body.

An athlete I know once told me, “I can’t tell you how big my bowel movements are after I run!” I asked her, “Where is it all coming from? You’re so thin!” She said, “I don’t know, but it sure comes out!” I said something silly like, “You better run home fast!”

Alicia Silverstone has tried to tell people about how “effortless” her bowel movements are since becoming vegan. Of course, people just laugh at her. What does an actress know about health? Try it sometime. Try being vegan for a while and see if you can get depressed. Leafy green vegetables, vegetables that grow up. These will keep you smiling. Robin Williams would have been the first to make a comedy routine out of it.

There’s a great episode of Two & a Half Men in which the young boy, Jake, is depressed and grouchy. After enduring Jake’s rude remarks and slouchy attitude for a while, the maid, Berta, hands him a jug of prune juice and says, “Here, drink this! The whole thing!” The next time we see Jake he’s back to normal, laughing, joking, eagerly running out to the beach. Berta tells his father, “All you feed him are pancakes and pizza, whaddya expect?”
Can constipation kill? John Wayne had 40 lbs of fecal matter in his intestines when he died. Elvis, whose favorite food was a bacon/peanut butter/banana sandwich, had 60 lbs. of feces inside him when he died. Certainly, these two cases are severe. I don't know if Robin Williams was anywhere near this condition. However, even being slightly constipated can slow a person down and cause other difficulties. Catherine Zeta-Jones' favorite comfort food is a spam/corn flake sandwich. I heard her tell this to an interviewer. As a macro, I can see the results of this eating in her skin. We know she is bi-polar; she's been to rehab more than once for this disorder. She's an amazing, talented, beautiful actress; it's hard to see her having trouble of any kind. According to macrobiotics,  the above mentioned snacks are a recipe for constipation, depression, and other complications.

It’s hard for people to believe that depression can be caused by something as simple as constipation and cured by something as simple as relieving your bowels. We want to think we are depressed about something important. And, we are: death, loss, war, human suffering, our own pain. But, we cannot come to grips with the world and our own pain unless we are reasonably healthy. As a macro, I do not believe that some people are so depressed they cannot be helped by positive diet and lifestyle changes or so far gone they cannot help themselves. As long as you can cook and chew, you can change. If you think you’re too depressed to cook, you are lying to yourself. You have to help yourself if you want to change. Help yourself.

I’m still angry. Angry with Robin Williams. Angry with Philip Seymour Hoffman. It also hurts me to think - they were working when they died. When I think of all the talented people who never get to work, or older actors and actresses who cannot find work, I get really angry with both Williams and Hoffman. One of the things I admired most about Robin Williams was his ability to reinvent himself. He was a crazy-great comedian. He was a brilliant serious actor. His work in the movie, One Hour Photo blew my mind. He was beyond amazing in the Law & Order, SVU, episode, Authority. They say Americans love a come back. I want to say come back, Robin. Come back, Philip. At the very least I can watch them over and over on film. I don’t need to tell you which films. You know.

Yeah, I’m angry. I’m also sad. I’ve always told my daughter, “No matter how bad things get, please remember how amazing you are. And, you never know what’s coming around the next corner. Someone as amazing as you will know how to take advantage of the next possibility.” Robin Williams took advantage of those possibilities over and over. I don’t know why he finally ran out of hope. But I can tell you I’ve seen it many times: a healthy lifestyle change can make a tremendous difference to what may seem insurmountable difficulties. You may not believe it can be that simple. But, it is.

And that makes depression even more tragic.

CNN: Dr. Amen discusses Robin Williams’ depression and the healthy benefits of diet and lifestyle changes.


***Update: We now know that Robin Williams was in the early stages of Parkinson's Disease when he died. According to macrobiotics, Parkinson's is a degenerative disease of the nervous system that is caused by long term eating of extreme yin, in the case of yin Parkinson's (shaking) and long term eating of extreme yang in the case of yang Parkinson's (seizing-up). He had been taking more medications for this condition, compounding his depression. As a macro, it is painful to hear this news because Parkinson's can be prevented, controlled, and often reversed with healthy macrobiotic changes.  It seems every day brings another sadness about Williams' death. Even Koko the gorilla who met Williams mourned him. She speaks over 1,000 words and overheard the staff talking about him. She remembered him. He had made her laugh when a gorilla friend of hers passed in 2001. Now, I realize, nature is mourning too. 

Impromptu Robin Williams Memorial at the Boston Garden bench from Good Will Hunting.

These tributes were most likely washed away by Wednesday's rains, making them even more poignant.

©PatriciaGoodwin, 2014

Patricia Goodwin is the author of many articles on GMOs, organics, and other subjects. These articles and her books may be found on her website at patriciagoodwin.com. Books on Amazon: When Two Women Die and Dreamwater.