Barista's Life Love Laughter (eBook)

January

Winter is raked, pruned and plenty, as
vanilla bean glows through the pane

1-21 49° Semi-cloudy.

Cinnamon Apple Latte: 1/2 shot apple syrup, shot cinnamon syrup or powder, espresso shots, steamed milk.

8:41 A.M. Not much going on today…eeny, meeny, miny, moe…Will this yearning be satisfied with a king-size chocolate bar, a trip to the craft store, possibly a few shillings in the slots or shall I shag the next stunning, three-legged stud that walks through my doors? I think I will just sit tight, inside this cubicle, and actualize the journal, which has been rolling around in my head for far too long. Much healthier than at least three of those options…

I must give you some background so you can appreciate this Barista girl’s solitary existence at the Outpost Espresso, high up in the mountains of Northwest Washington. It is one of my reminiscing days…looking back over the years at some of the unbelievable stories in the barista business, sharing only enchanting, lonely, exciting, and emotional year!

My espresso and gift shop just happens to be located up in no-man’s land (no normal men that is). I am that rare, single, white female, running the joint.

I live alone above my store and try to keep a handle on an acre of river frontage, along with the four powerful seasons in the Northwest.

This designated scenic highway is my front yard. I am a tiny gun-totin’, mace carryin’ mama, ready for war-at-all-costs gal! Doing it just to say, “I did it!” and to prove to women everywhere that if we discard our poisons (men, booze, fear, insecurity, food, pills, and lack of inner strength), WE CAN DO ANYTHING!

11:38 A.M. In the meantime, many hopeful men and male customers, daily, surround me. The two are not synonymous! Along with all of them, come thousands of different people and I shall share only the printable stories. They reflect the realities of men and women’s issues and plain ole life. My doors swing open to innumerable and varied creatures in “these-thar-hills”. I also cohabit with my six birds and a lovable guard dog. This ma ‘n pa form of isolated living is on a plot of land that dates to the turn of the century and is considered by some to be heaven-on-earth!

The Bower family owned this building and some of the surrounding area cabins from the early 1900s on. It has had various owners since then, but always a small grocery store and gas station. It even boasted a restaurant until the 1950s, when it burned down, along with hundreds of other buildings in this region. It is now called MINE!

5:04 P.M. This book tells the story as A Barista’s Life*Love*Laughter. It mainly focuses on the truths of male and female relationships, which I consider “a bad science project.” We will take a deep look into a female solely handling retail and service. My tiny town of Saratogan is the hub and depicts the lifestyle of this isolated community, along with the golden days of logging, mining, railroad lines, and brothels.

6:11 P.M. Come on along for this ride…

1-22 49° Cloudy-Only one sweater on. Nose is not running. How can this be?

Rum/Amaretto Latte: 1/2 shot rum syrup or real rum, copy with amaretto, shots of espresso, steamed milk.

8:03 A.M. It has been thirty-two years since the Pineapple Express blew in like this! Mountain Peak Ski Resort closed again last Monday, and who knows if and when it will re-open! I am supposed to be selling espresso to masked, bundled mummies, looking for a kick and warmth! The Seattle Flyer even interviewed me this afternoon, along with some of the employees up at the resort. I am finally newsworthy – too bad the news is about a dusty, dried-up espresso machine and going broke!

12:02 P.M. Good God Business Is Slow! Saturdays have become just another boring Wednesday.

Today one of my customers surprised me with gifts from Hawaii. Rub it in! Believe me, these gifts at hand will cost me plenty – many free cappuccinos, and I’ll end up spending even more than he did the ol’ muckworm. But then again, this is the man responsible for getting me started on my writings – since one of my gifts from Hawaii is a beautiful baroque, padded journal and a note. “Go Girl!” So, I will transfer page one from bits of scratch paper and here we go…

BMW Brian is one of those Microsoft guys that cannot comprehend my life up here, even one iota. So, he tells me, “Get this craziness down on paper!” I normally do not listen to men that tell me anything.

I began this journal during a historically dead, snowless season, and Outpost Espresso is located close to a ski-resort. So, instead of boring you to death, I will share some facts:

THE HISTORY OF ESPRESSO

The simple human desire-for-speed became the root of the invention of espresso. It began in the mid-1800s, when people wanted a quick and personal cup of coffee made, just for them. It became the process of brewing coffee faster. In 1901, an Italian named Luigi Bezzera patented the first espresso machine, using steam pressure to force water through ground coffee. Then along came the foamed and steamed milk idea. In 1948, Gaggia improved this system by developing the first spring-piston espresso machine. The first hydraulic machine arrived in 1956, by Cimbali. FAEMA came up with an electric pump machine, which was considered a much more modern system in 1960.

Espresso took a while to catch on in America. It intrigued the public as something foreign that sparked up thoughts of romance, mystery, and sophistication.

Espresso is a 1.5-ounce beverage that is prepared from 8 grams of coffee, pressurized under 198-degrees of steam, and forced at 9 atmospheres of pressure, with a flow time of 25-seconds. Snappy and fastidiously flawless!

4:09 P.M. A nice yuppie couple came in. They looked calculated. In the first thirty seconds I was not surprised to hear that he was a computer engineer, working for the Big Guy, and she a realtor. I was foaming and frothing cappuccinos while they were digesting their surroundings. “How can you live in a place like this? Got any neighbors? We see Porta Potties, forests, animals and this is so isolated and rustic, I am sure you don’t dare do French Nails – are you masochistic?” “Well, I hadn’t thought of this place in quite those terms, but now that you mention it…” Just then, one of the toothless locals strolled in. Perfect timing to spook these city slickers.

Next…an adorable single from “down-below” stopped in on her way to eastern Washington for a wedding. She was not pleased. “My younger cousin is gaining a husband and losing her freedom. At least that is my impression. Every old aunt is going to be on my case, poking me in the ribs with, ‘Are you going to ever be next?’ This is at every damn ceremony. Make my drink a double…no, a triple!”

5:53 P.M. Early close. Slow day. May as well save the electricity as the highway is hollow…

1-23 50° Clear.

Rum/Amaretto Latte: A ½ shot of rum and amaretto syrups (or real liquor), shots of espresso and steamed milk.

8:01 A.M. All-in one-half hour! My daughter, who lives in Alaska, has a baby. How did I get to be a forty-five-year-old grandmother, who still gets “carded” for buying beer? I found out today that she is getting a divorce, via her cell phone from a bar. She was sitting outside smoking and spitting, under the year-round heat lamps, trying to get a word in edgewise, as I was crying and screaming, a mile a minute! She was so engrossed in our conversation that when she turned her head to spit, it accidentally landed on a comely millionaire from Pacifica, Washington. Obviously, they got to know each other pretty well in the next few minutes. She insisted that he meet her mother! He jumped right on her phone, “I’m coming down to the lower ‘forty-eight’ next week. Let us get together for some dinner!” He suggested Valentine’s Day… UGH. Doesn’t he have a life?

A client stopped by for a large supply of my chocolate-covered espresso beans. She informed me that her cheating husband was a doll this weekend while visiting their home, so she was now packing up her life and the kids to re-join him at his relocation site on the other side of the mountains. I figured that was probably right next door to his latest missy! She emphatically explained, again, that he will get no more chances! No wonder she inhales espresso beans…

Just then, a gentleman walked in and pulled out one of my historic railroad postcards. He pointed to himself in the photo, “I’m the guy in front of the touring steam engine,” as he stood in the same pose with railroad pride all over his face. His name was Derek, and I am sure I’ll see more of him. He left feeling famous! All in only...