R.S. Evangelista

Sometimes we get caught in quicksand and find ourselves on the brink of drowning, surrounded by solid land and wondering how we fumbled ourselves into such particularly unpleasant circumstances. There’s usually a graceful hand, a rope, or a bit of something sturdy to latch on to when we find ourselves in these desert times. And while there are often plenty of virtues to gain while wandering off the path or nearly losing life, it’s good to be back on a firm foundation. Sometimes it takes an unprecedented amount of patience and work to find a healthy home again.

This weekend I’m surrounded by friends to celebrate marriage. And even in our now scattered state, as we come together I can say we’re a testament of finding land after a quicksand last couple of years. And sacred, adventurous commitments like marriage can add thoughts of hope and redemption to a world where fleeting desires push us around with the wind. Long rehearsals might be hot on a saturday afternoon in the gardens of Atlanta, but taking time to embrace these moments help us to not forget what we get ourselves into, the good, lasting bonds we share. I complained while sweating in the heat too. But I am thankful now and will hopefully continue to be.

And in all of the wedding events I am present but also adrift. My thoughts are wandering off to the East. I don’t mind, because in less than a week I’ll be galavanting across the North Pole in hopes of finding some of my own adventures. Chris Jones(a brother of brothers) and I will be heading for Shanghai next weekend. And this also is a testament to hope through the storms of life, for we too were pulled out of some quicksand. I’m a romantic, so travelling is grand and exciting, and most healthy if you know where home is, otherwise you might get lost again. And I think I’m on to something, and about calling Atlanta my humble abode; my speck in the history of a long line of humans to walk the face of earth. I’ve said I would go anywhere and do anything, and may this journey be an honest example of who I desire to be. I admit I’m not often in that frame of mind and spirit. And I’ll return, like I always do, in a few short weeks and hopefully with a bit of newness on my back and in my heart. And maybe I’ll serve coffee again, and love and feast(from the garden) with the ones that find home on this little speck of a city too. If I’m blessed enough, I might even find something underground, maybe a piece of restoration that we could use here in the West.

There is the saying that goes something like this, “You don’t know where you’re going until you know where you’ve been,” or similarly, “You don’t know who you are until you know who or what you came from.” In case you didn’t realize it already, I’m one of those introspective folks. So I spend a good bit of my time thinking about myself. And at first this seems a bit egocentric, but by no means are my thoughts always self-righteous. On the contrary, I tend to be most critical of myself. I know my depravity exists from the core. Hopefully you will allow for me to think highly of who I might be as well. And the good in me usually is not comprised of my deep devoted effort, rather it comes from the fixated purposeful forming and winnowing of others that love me more than I deserve (I guess love comes undeserved in order to be truly love).

My father just so happens to be a prime candidate for influencing me towards the greatest of good. And I certainly don’t toss a thought like that out there lightly. It could be obvious enough that he had the foremost impact upon me since he’s known me from birth. That eliminates almost everyone else bar a few relatives that I have had far from regular interaction with as I grew up. But many sons have know their fathers since they were born and wouldn’t necessarily come to the same conclusion. I am blessed.

I made it back to Hilton Head for a couple of days to visit the rents before I head out of the country for a few weeks(more on this at a later date). I spent most of my youth on the 12 mile long island, and the gate I drove through for years is still there. It’s where I come from. My parents are proud of their home and the fifteen years they’ve spent in it. And as I allow myself time for a little introspection, I come to realize how much I learned in that home under, and next to my father. Only recently did I even begin to enjoy looking back on childhood, for I have always been in such a rush to become an all-out adult. Now I’m reaching it, and I’d rather close my eyes and smile at my father teaching me how to catch or swim. We enjoyed eachothers company along the water. We went for a walk while I was intown. I’ve always loved the late afternoons down at the beach, walking and talking, or not talking. We would be distracted by our search for a shark’s tooth, or a fisherman’s catch, or the incoming tide that might’ve trapped us against the marsh. My father taught me to fish, and how to ride a bike. He showed me how to brush my teeth or comb my hair (which I find little purpose in now that mine is curly and his is gone).

And as I matured throughout the years my love for things began to surface. My father, whom I call Papa and is known by most as Tony, has always been a lover of literature and music. It wasn’t til college that I began to see how beautiful words on a page can be. And he’s always been a writer, jotting out songs into his mini-recorder after hopping out of the shower early in the morning and then sharing them later with me. I aspire to be a writer and a poet like he. And those are just a couple of examples. There are many other ways I aspire to be like my father, too many to mention here.

It’s the first day of summer Papa, and as you know, it’s the “longest” day of the year. The sun hangs a little longer today, giving me a few extra moments to look back and reflect, to smile on the bright moments where you’ve helped make me into the man that I am. Thank you Father for teaching me what you have, for showing me what’s important. Thank you Papa for loving me as you have. Thank you friend for sharing with me through thick and thin. And when the sun has set, you can be sure, I know where I’ve been. And I’ll know where I’m going when another day begins.

It’s summer by most accounts here in Atlanta.  Summer’s a time for coming and going, for travels and for rest. And I found my way over to Emory today. Some of my favorite places in Atlanta are over here, like the spacious quad at the University near the library. Back in my college days I’d use it because of my own campus’s lack of resources. It afforded me pleasant getaways in my times of escape. I like people, and being surrounded by hundreds of intellectual kids made me feel better about myself I guess. But today I’m reminded that it’s summer, and the quad’s solace is in the stillness, the calm and emptiness from everyone’s absence. I move on, and I find my way over to the village.

Normally I’d sit in for brunch at Rise and Dine, but I’ve already had my usual everything bagel at work this morning. So I just stop by long enough to say hello to my friend waiting tables. This afternoon I’m at Method. a newer coffee bar and tea lounge. I’m here because some barista friends have been raving about their espresso.  And as it turns out I’m pleasantly satisfied.  Method. is trendy in a good way; wood floor with the polished finish, post-modern artsy cushioned seats on one wall, simple menu, and a spacious patio. The owner and baristas know what they’re up to. They love what they’re doing, and that isn’t always easy to find these days.

You know, I was thinking the other day…it’s probably a good thing that we have extremists in some sense. I’m glad that some folks aren’t satisfied with just being good at something, just settling with the norm.  If there is no great novelist, then who would the short story writer have to look towards? Or more to the point, where would your everyday barista look without the World Barista Competition? She might end up handing you something more undesirable.  A good cappuccino could make a sad man’s day just a little bit better.

Today I’m tasting one of the most flavorful sips of my life(Maybe the truffle shavings I shared at Serenbe Farm were this distinct). The espresso that Method. recently blended is making me lose my tongue.  It’s remarkably paletteable.  There is an unidentifiable wafer sweetness that comes with their predominent roast, mixed in with some whiskey, maple syrupy flavor and a savory, candy ginger finish from the other varietals. The soft tabacco and spiced orange joined in leave me with a smooth, subtle aftertaste. There is enough bitter to confirm it as espresso, but it is grand. I desire more.

I step outside instead. I remind myself that it’s just espresso. There are more substantial things to consider. The breeze is fitting. It’s enough to make me feel cooler on this warm, cloudy day. Perfection is good, like a beautiful sip of espresso. And that extremist striving is healthy if it moves one towards perfection. It’s all too obvious that extremists can take on great evil when they look towards an imperfection, towards something that lacks truth (like murdering an abortion doctor). Not everything is subjective, lest we forget and can no longer enjoy the subtilties in life. I hope I can care enough to strive towards the truer thing, towards the honest thing even if it is summer time and the quad is still and motionless.