Caffeinated Politics

There are those days in life when you must stop and slow down, recognizing that what is playing out is truly wonderful. Not because you are on vacation or won the lottery. As the day is put into perspective, all the events are rather ordinary. Yet putting them together, and taking nothing for granted, they are all super special.

This morning started with sunshine, and within hours, a warm, nearly cloudless spring day was underway. A couple of cups of coffee and a book started my day in the rays. Having winter stowed away for the season, days like this are a tonic for the soul, and those who live in Wisconsin can be excused for breathing deeply of warm air and looking up into the bright skies. Refreshing!

James and I headed to Menards for tree shopping. We bought a five-foot Arborvitae (the second this spring) and also a tree that should have been planted at our home many years ago. A White Pine.

Since the 1980s, and under different owners, our large home has been known as the White Pine Condos. It is made from White Pine. The irony was that no White Pine had ever grown on the property. Since 2007, when James and I took part ownership and, in 2019, full ownership, we decided to transform the landscaping. Of the 26 trees here, we planted all but three. Tonight, this home finally has a White Pine.

I grew up on 100 acres of land in Hancock, Wisconsin. A large portion of the southern part was filled with White Pines. I loved to walk under them as they were so tall, and as a boy, they towered over me. I would lie down on the ground that was covered with needles and just gaze up into the filtered sunlight. Because of sibling dysfunction, Dad was never able to be driven to our home before his death, and therefore, James and I never had a White Pine tree planting ceremony.

That all changed tonight.

James dug the hole, and I know Dad would be happy to see the start of the future of this tree. Not a mere plant. But a memory. Its needles carried the scent of my boyhood and are a quiet thread tying past to present. Something is grounding about putting new life into the soil, especially on a day that already felt so full of renewal. Yeah, Dad is smiling. Mom is saying, “Water it, water it”.

After the hardware store, James and I stopped at Qamaria Yemeni Coffee, a new business on the west side of Madison operated by people from Yemen. I ordered an iced coffee with cardamom. I needed a jolt of energy. Cardamom was a new touch for me, and it felt like a small revelation. A new flavor, a new coffee shop for my addiction, and a way to support diversity in my city.

Then, on our way home, we passed a bookstore. Well, we did not really pass it. We stopped at The Book Deal. It was a familiar refuge. We wandered, browsed, and picked up a few purchases, the kind that promise future hours of quiet joy. These were my two selections.

Outside, the day kept unfolding in that generous spring way. At home on the front lawn, we had a 45-minute chat with Zack, a local educator and graduate student who lives a block away. If it was meant as a quick hello as he passed our home, it soon fell away to a long, meaningful conversation. I was thrilled by the sincerity in the way he talked about his work. Moments like that remind me again why I love living here. He has been here before, and will again. This neighborhood is a community where people truly know one another.

This evening brought a gentle reward: dinner at a Turkish restaurant, close enough to walk to. I slipped on deck shoes for the first time this season, a small but unmistakable ritual of Spring returning. The food was warm, fragrant, and comforting, but even more meaningful was the simple fact that we live in a neighborhood where we can stroll to places like this. I know this sounds a bit small-town on my part, even after decades of city living. But I never take this stuff for granted. None of it. Not for a second.

Life at its best can be stitched together by sunlight, community, memory, and the small pleasures that make a place feel like home.