Saturday, November 3, 2012

How a Neighborhood Coffee Shop Became a Safe Zone for Same-Sex Parents and Our Children

From my blog site:

I am writing this from one of my favorite coffee shops, Foster’s Market in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I like coming here to write in the afternoons after spending some solitude in my writing studio in the morning hours. The food here is delicious, with wraps and pizzas, soups and salads that are a delight to the palette. The coffee and tea choices, along with wines and beers, are simply divine. And don’t get me going on the desserts, my weakness: chocolate whopper cookies with chunks of chocolate and walnuts, alongside coconut cake and berry pies to die for.
A couple of young women, true entrepreneurs from a nearby town, dole out peanut brittle samples in handfuls. Needless to say, this place satiates my gustatory needs, and then some. The yellow walls and high ceiling, with Martha Stewart kitsch décor, offset by all the Carolina light blue t-shirts and caps, gives Foster’s a homey country feel in a university town. (This is, after all, home to the University of North Carolina.)
As a writer, I’m always watching people, listening in on their conversations (hopefully without their knowing it), looking for fodder for more blog entries and writing projects. I smile as I notice people laughing together over a silly joke across the restaurant, while I watch dramatic news being shared among several generations of family members next to my table. A young child runs loose, with a lesbian mom in hot pursuit, while African American students hover over their laptops, working on term papers with a mocha latte within arms reach. There is an Indian American grandparent carrying a grandchild in her arms, while a young straight college-aged couple look adoringly in each other’s eyes over a pizza.
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