I read the paragraph. I shook my head and read it again. 11 year olds don’t talk like that! This sucks. Maybe the whole thing sucks? Sweet baby Jesus on a pogo stick. What am I doing? By the end of a one-hour editing session, I’ll be the first to admit that my self-talk isn’t always on point. I will also admit that I briefly thought about throwing my computer into a lake. Fortunately, no lakes are readily available in my intown Atlanta neighborhood—so I set myself to the next task: coffee.
Not like I wanted a cup of coffee right then—although I kind of did. The more pressing issue was that we had no coffee for in the morning. Monday morning. I don’t know how other people live their lives, but in my house we don’t face Mondays without ample caffeine.
The lack-of-coffee issue was complicated by the no-car issue. As in, I don’t have one. A rugged and rather-adorable 1988 Ford F-150 named Larry does live at my house. But I can’t drive him. He’s finicky about going into gear sometimes, you see. Thank you, but no thank you. Besides, Larry was sitting at the MARTA station, where Simon & Jane had gone to catch the train to the soccer game.
I briefly considered my options:
- Wait for Simon to come home from the game and then ask him to drive to the store to get coffee. That seemed super-sucky. He’d wrangled the kid at a professional sporting event, back and forth on public transit… it just seemed a little cold-hearted to hit him with the need to run errands when he got home close to 9 p.m.
- Ride my bike to the store. But it was getting dark. And all the roads were wet. And it was cold. I scratched biking off the list, too.
- Walk to the store. This seemed like the most valid option. I can certainly walk in the dark. But the grocery store is 1.6 miles from my house. I have walked it before—but I don’t love the jaunt over there. And did I mention it was cold & rainy?
I quickly realized that walking was my best option (notice that not getting coffee appears NOWHERE on that list). So, I started brainstorming places closer to me than the big grocery store. There’s a coffee shop that I love on Memorial, but walking up Cherokee to get there feels like it’s straight up a long, endless hill. Usually, I’m totally cool with it. But I just wanted something easy. That didn’t feel easy.
The coffee shop at the bottom of the first dip in Cherokee doesn’t sell coffee—or at least I didn’t remember them selling coffee. And they were closed by the time I pulled my act together.
Finally, I remembered that there’s a little eatery/store on Boulevard (about a mile away). It’s locally owned. Love that. And I knew they had bagged coffee—but you can be damn sure I called ahead to check before I hauled myself over there. Sure enough, they did and I set out to get it.
I got there and quickly discovered that what they had was coffee from a locally owned sustainable micro-roaster.
Now, let’s just stop right there and let me say a few things:
- I like to shop local.
- I realized when I went to this store, I’d pay more for coffee than I’d pay at the grocery store.
- I love coffee more than most things, so I am not really complaining about this, so much as observing.
I bought a bag of coffee. It was $14.
I am so grateful that I have an extra $14 to spend on coffee. I am. And I love that I supported not one but TWO small businesses with that transaction. Really, it just never occurred to me that the closest place to get coffee might cost twice what I buy coffee for at the grocery. And yes, it is far superior to what I buy at the grocery. But I kept thinking about the folks who don’t have a car. Like ever. The choice between a very long, cold rainy walk or paying premium price for coffee was not lost on me.
My neighborhood needs more corner markets where folks can buy staples easily. Not boutique markets aimed at gentrifiers. Real, affordable food for everyone. There’s a place for boutique and niche markets. But there’s also a real need to have accessible marketplaces that are walkable and filled with real food.
(Also, I realized this morning, as I was enjoying my micro-roasted coffee, that if I had walked two blocks further, I would have gotten to CVS—which probably had (not nearly as good) cheap coffee that I could have bought for a hefty mark-up.)
This lesson about food accessibility is just one in a long line of gut-punch lessons in compassion I’ve received these last two months while I’ve been carless. I am grateful for what I’ve been given (especially for my delightful cup of coffee this morning). But I’ve become ever-mindful of the people who have less than I do. That’s been a beautiful, wrenching gift.