Appendix E-J

As part of celebrating our 5th anniversary, someone who is part of Everyday Joe’s will write something about it each month. Anything from essays to sonnets to interpretive dance. How interpretive dance would translate to this blog, I’m not sure…but it’d be interesting.

Whatever is written, it will come from the life that is in this building. 144 S. Mason seems to be alive and breathing…and it is something you can’t ignore when you walk in. Number five has been written by Chris Hess, Everyday Joe’s assistant director and concert boooking man. He is also very loud.

Crema is something that is very important to us here at 144 S. Mason.

So is life.

Crema is that magnificent layer of flavor and goodness that sits on top of a well-drawn shot of espresso. It, however, is only the beginning. Below it are the heart and body of the shot…living in the thick dark mystery of the coffee extract. The crema is only the beginning.

Life is, well, life. It is made up of times of celebration followed by curveballs that seemed to be aimed at the center of your heart. When they hit, your lungs collapse and your eyes go wide and you wait for the air to return. Often, the community around you must perform CPR. Even in laughter the heart may ache, and joy may end in grief.

There is a man. His name is Frank. For 9 months, he sat on the couch in the foyer at 144 S. Mason. He sat, and he stared out the window. Sometimes he would sit outside. Mostly, he would sit on the couch. He ate more than several pouches of trail mix. Many of you came to know him and he came to know many of you. A curveball had hit him in the heart. His lungs had collapsed.

Frank dealt with severe depression. His days consisted of walking from where he slept to Everyday Joe’s and back to the place he slept. Outside of this he was paralyzed.The variations in his day consisted of the people who would walk in and out of 144 S. Mason. You loved him. In November of 2007, Frank entered a treatment program.

3 weeks ago, I was working behind the bar cleaning dishes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walk up to the counter. I turned around to help, and there was Frank. He wore a purple polo shirt with a pen tucked between the buttons. He ordered a decaf Mocha. We sat and talked about the housing market, the election, renewable fuels, the price of gas in California in the 1980s, the History channel, and all of you. He asked about so many people. He has his own place where he is living. He wants to go see the Doobie Brothers. This past Wednesday, he began volunteering at Everyday Joe’s. You performed CPR. You saved a man’s life.

Frank’s tale is full of truth and life. It is a testament to family and community and true love. It is the crema. It is a celebration of more variables than we can imagine coming together in grace. What must be remembered, though, is that the crema is just the beginning. Below it is the mystery. When you dig deeper, when you pursue it into the darkness, you will find this everywhere. People with lungs collapsed. Needing breath. Needing wounds healed. It can begin here, but it must not end here. We are family. We must take care of each other.

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