Sun shines through the open windows telling me it is time to get up. I try to leap out of bed, but my legs are glued to the mattress. “Coffee,” I moan. Groggily, I force myself out of bed and walk down to the kitchen. I peer into the pantry and remember that I am out of coffee! I must resort to Plan B. I quickly get dressed, grab my wallet and jump on my cruiser to head to my local coffee shop. 

The sweet smell of coffee tickles my nose as I enter the Coffee Grinder, a long standing Ketchum, Idaho institute that serves organic coffee and tea, pastries from scratch, and other speciality items. 

I have an hour to kill, so I order my drip coffee in a porcelain cup to stay and take a seat. The owner, Nikki, is engaged in a conversation with a man I don’t recognize. They talk with ease, like old friends. He sits comfortably at the bar wearing khaki shorts, a polo shirt, and sandals. Nikki gets pulled away to help customers, so he pulls out his phone and starts dialing up friends. 

“Hey Mike. It’s me, Steve. How are you? I’m in Sun Valley for Rufus’ funeral.” 

Pause. 

“I know it’s a tragic thing. But, lovely ceremony on top of Baldy and everything.” 

“So, hey, I would love to see you while I’m here.” 

Pause. 

“What am I doing these days? Well, I’m in the sandal business.” I look down at his sandals. Practical brown leather sandals. 

As I look up from the sandals, a lady and her son enter the shop. The son is all teenager: goofy grin, baseball hat askew. He scratches his head and ponders the menu. His mother makes casual conversation to keep the mood light. 

“Look at this, hon.” She walks over to a collection of medium-sized wooden bowls hanging on the wall. 

Her son saunters over, glances at the bow-shaped bowls and grunts.

Softly she says, “Aren’t they interesting?” Sensing her son’s indifference, she turns to Nikki, “Interesting story.” 

The handcrafted bowls are eye-catching; the smooth interior carved perfectly to entertain a salad or a bowl of fruit. Oblivious, the man continues to shout into the phone’s speaker about sandals and the bottom line. I look down at the man’s sandals again. The leather is cracked, the quality cheap. He dials up another friend, but reaches voicemail. He hasn’t turned around once to look at the bowls

 “I’ll be here for the rest of the week. Would love to see you.” I hear desperation in his voice. He makes another call, ”Is Bob around?”

I read the wood carver’s bio and learned that the artist fell in a climbing accident and ended up in a coma for a week. After he emerged from the coma, he discovered his true calling. 

I think about how ephemeral life can be and how differently people live their lives; whether they spend it rushing from one thing to the next, trying to reconnect with old friends as they pass through town or whether they stay in one place, living a simple life expressing themselves through their art. 

I smile as I leave, feeling thankful that I ran out of coffee this morning. If I didn’t venture out to get my coffee, I wouldn’t have experienced coffee shop life, where people’s lives intersect, if only for a minute.