For the price of a cup of tea.

Dear foreboding, rumbly-tumbly storm clouds,

Since you decided to set in and chase me inside from my sanguine Sunday bike ride, I guess I will write something. (P.S. I don't like you.)

If I have many flaws (which I do), one of them is that I get really attached to places and days gone by. I also get attached to people, but that is probably more normal than being in love with a coffee shop or a doorway, so we'll leave that one behind.

If you are the kind of person whom I talk to frequently, you know that I haven't been able to get over the beloved Citrus and Sage cafe since it closed last August. If you are one of these people, don't read this and save yourself from hearing me repeat myself.

Citrus and Sage was by far my favorite place in Logan, located conveniently on my favorite street in Logan. I sometimes ride by it on my bike, looking for signs of life and wondering why one of the lights is on. The "for sale" sign hangs resiliently, waiting for someone's interest (and money).

This place brought a great crowd of people together. There was that guy with the face tattoos and that Bill fellow who basically lived there. There were snooty people and college professors. There was Saturday night Jazz, poetry readings and study sessions. In the summer, you'd sit outside on the big wooden deck that was draped with potted flowers, and you'd sip your iced tea while folksy singer-songwriters would play into the dusk. I used to tell myself that one day I'd get up the nerve to play my songs in public and perform there.

One time, for some reason, someone hatched chickens in the upper level of the house where the tiny used bookstore was. Just these little eggs in a little incubator, sitting on a table waiting to be born. That's just the kind of place it was. (The awesome kind.)

One time I interviewed the former owner. She said she opened Citrus and Sage to bring people together to a place where they could just relax and hang out. She mentioned that she and her husband would often end up at Village Inn at night because there was no other place to relax and have a cup of coffee (and maybe a goopy cinnamon roll-- the ones at Citrus and Sage were quite outstanding).

Now it's back to Village Inn for a while, I guess. I am not opposed to pie. But it certainly 'aint no cinnamon roll or scruffy musician.