Thoughts from Lemonjello's

Well, I must say, this feels a little strange. I’m writing from a small college coffee shop called Lemonjello’s across the street from Hope College in Holland, Michigan. It’s not a very big café, and nearly every seat is taken. The name Lemonjello’s fits this place—posters for unknown bands near the door, student art and poetry on multi-color painted brick walls (only one is yellow), cool acoustical music and vocals in the background, and an aquarium with one huge goldfish staring indifferently at passers by. There’s a couch and chairs and tables, sort of like—dare I say it…“Central Perk” in Friends (and for those who know of it… “CupaJoe’s” in Cedar Falls, Iowa). It’s probably like a thousand non-Starbucks across the country, but I don’t get out much—at least not to sit in unfamiliar places alone for two hours.

So what’s so strange about being here? Well, for starters, I’m at least twice the age of every person in the place—except the lady by the window who just saw me look at her. Oh, great, the only other middle-aged person in the room just winked at me. Maybe not; maybe I’m just feeling conspicuous by looking around.

That fact alone sets me apart—my sitting here taking in the sounds and smells and “characters” is probably my most isolating feature. Every other table is in its own world, and the orbit of their conversations seems to have no gravitational pull on the tables around them. I see two categories of patrons. There are eight or nine other people perched behind laptops, like me, and then there are laughing friends enjoying a Sunday afternoon away from serious thought. It just occurred to me that the java dive of the 21st Century has replaced the soda shop of 100 years ago.

Take the couple to my left: They are clearly not a “couple” but good friends talking non-stop. Out of nowhere she announced that she got a Mac. After explaining its features, she added, “It’s so cute.” “Well, that’s the important thing,” the young man confirmed with a twist of friendly sarcasm like the lemon on the side of is glass, clearly aware of what it means to be a “guy friend” whose role is not to argue but to listen and gain a plutonic understanding of the opposite sex. Such relationships are a soothing balm for the bumpy times of life; they are less like fragrant perfume or cologne and more like the comforting smell of Vick’s VapoRub. Here-here to non-romantic friendships!

I'm not eves dropping on them—honest I'm not—I couldn't tell you much of what they've said, but their tone and pace and supply of conversation is rare. Someone should probably warn these two that after a few years of such conversations about the people they are dating or were dating and they'll suddenly realize that the person for them has been sitting across a small table Sunday afternoons all along. I did glance their way while "unkinking" my neck (alright I was faking the kink) and they do have the kind of eye contact that says this relationship is mutual.

It's the kind of friendship that could either lead to marriage... or the kind that will require explaining in their marriage to someone else (unless the spouse is uncommonly non-jealous). Someone should give them a copy of Our Town and say, Act II, flashback to the soda shop—you two are George and Emily if ever two friends were, but if they knew it now it might ruin everything. Discovering such endearment must occur long after the stain has set.

So what am I doing at Lemonjello’s? Well, first of all... Holland, Michigan, is a great place. It’s a little quiet on Sundays because they roll up the sidewalks at 2:00 in the afternoon. (This is one of the few places open as I type.) Last spring, Julie and I just took a day off and strolled these cobbled walks. We didn't hit places like Lemonjello's, of course, but there are lots of shops and galleries in Holland's historic downtown.

But the reason I’m here now is... that I dropped my daughter off at a local church where she is getting acquainted with a Hispanic ministry called “La Roca” (meaning The Rock, and yes there is a growing Mexican population here in the middle of Tulip Country). She is very excited about getting involved in some way there—it’s only about 30 minutes from home—but since she didn't know her way around, I drove her here this first time with the promise of “disappearing” for a few hours.

So here I sit at Lemonjello's… down to my last cold sip of coffee… with another hour to go... feeling like Dobie Gillis with graying temples. The fact that I even thought of such an image merely confirms the fact that I am way out of my element. I think I'll pack up and stroll those cobbled walks.
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The Dobie Gillis link doesn't show a picture of the "beatnik" hang out where Dobie and his buddy, Maynard G. Krebs (Bob Denver before Gilligan's Isle) hung out in in their free time—but it was a retreat of sorts (kind of like "Als" in Happy Days) and a bit like Lemonjello's.