I go through phases of buying coffee.  Most of the time, I’m too frugal to treat myself to a 3$ misto and it’s more convenient just to set the pot up the night before at home.  This year, during TYOTS, eating became a real chore for me.  So did making anything, including coffee.  Sometimes I wouldn’t bother and other times I’d find myself at our local coffee chain.  In better times, I would stop and talk with Jocelyn, the manager there.  She’s friendly and must have a filing cabinet brain because she remembers everyone’s orders the minute they walk through the door.

When things got really bad, I stopped going for coffee (or anywhere, really).

But when I happened into the coffee place, Jocelyn would make my order, hand it to me and say something like “It’s good to see you out.”  Or, “I know things are bad.  I’m thinking of you.”  I don’t know her last name.  I don’t know much about her except for the bits and pieces she’s told me over the past couple of years.   When things are slow, she gives my toddler a cup of milky foam.  And this entire shitty year, she hasn’t let me pay for coffee.

A free cup of coffee sounds like such a small thing, doesn’t it?  And yet it meant so much to me.  I brought Jocelyn some homemade jam as a thank you.  This morning on the way to the grocery store, I went in to buy myself a cup.  Jocelyn was there.  “You look great,” she said.  It wasn’t my old t-shirt or my unwashed hair.  “I’m back,” I said and she nodded.  She did not charge me today, either.

Jocelyn, this cake is warm, comforting, delicious, and easy, much like a free cup of coffee.  I solute you and everyone whose small actions make a world of difference each day.  And I’ll bring you some homemade pickles – I remember you told me you like them.