Those red cups

I've been meeting some of my clients at a local starbux, and I've observed a few staff meetings in progress there. About a month ago there was a discussion among employees about the red cups coming out for the holidays. One of the stores had mistakenly started using them early, causing a bit of a brouhaha.

It made me think of Alice right away. Not the brouhaha part -- well, maybe the brouhaha part -- but more so the red cups at Christmas part. There I'd be, waiting for my next appointment, thinking of Alice, with a pit in my stomach. The kind that silently screams something's wrong, and will never be right. It feels like I f`cked something up in my life that can never be fixed. It's the utterness of hopelessness right in my gut.

I just see her smiling so much in my visions of her, with energy to ignite us both. Sometimes I feel her energy well up inside me, then it slips past my fingers, I can't hold on to it. During this period of holidays, I wish for some of her contagious effusiveness; it sure would be nice to keep.

Back to starbux coffee, Alice f`cking loved it. She was the first person I knew to be a fan of the frapuchino (misspellings intentional) before it caught on. At the time, around 1996, I was like "frapu-what?" She said that she liked her coffee more like candy or ice cream. We laughed.

I like candy and ice cream, too, but I've lately faulted starbux for being ubiquitous in New York. And their marketing machine seems particularly powerful, as I've been wanting one of those peppermint coffees since the red cups emerged last month. Is it the advertising working unconsciously, or Alice? Last night I finally had one.

From the night sky -- it was 4:45pm in mid-December after all -- fell a wintry mix. More accurately, small bits of hail were pelting my face as Peter and I sought a place to have a long-overdue evening date. Lo and behold, we passed a starbux and I felt it. I said to him "Do you want to go in?" meaning, "I want to go in," so we did. I ordered a short peppermint mocha, with whipped cream, and forgot to ask for decaf. Peter had a regular coffee.

Out of embarrassment I just tried to omit the detail about the donut I also ordered. I needed to quell the despair of the moment, having a candy coffee in memory of my departed sister Alice. Donuts overtake any feeling I have with their blunt sweetness and heaviness. In a strange way, I needed relief from my gloom coupled with the intensity of such closeness with Alice. She never would have had a donut, I don't think she liked them. The donut was a way to create distance between us and keep my self from getting intertwined with her. Although her criticism (in my head) of the amount of saturated fat I was consuming didn't let me stray too far.

I savored the drink for Alice, and for myself. It was rich, warm on my tongue yet minty cool in my mouth. She sure knew a good thing. I was grateful to her for getting me to taste the delicious beverage, and remember her sweetly.