Sonder Cafe

The cafe opens, curtains diffusing the light into a soft white that carefully touches the eclectic furniture. Stools and couches from estate sales where the previous owners had loved the comfort of these pieces enough to have them as the place they rest through a lazy day til the last day. Tables from garage sales imbued with the love and comfort of families living through their best moments and major familial milestones. Paintings made from the compassion of their creators fond views of the world in their mind. Glasses that have had someone's favorite drink made in them by someone held dear.

The plates are gaudy or drab but always come with a story. The air is still, full of the aura of emotion and heavy with recent and long forgotten pasts and stories. Paeonia works quietly at the counter handing out unmeasured, inconsistent ever changing coffee and tea's. Paeonia intently watches the various plants lined on shelves around the room. The plants being basil, lavender, various mints and a long living bonsai tree that has had more life put into it then it ever needed Paeonia fears taking care of it.

Cirrus is in the back making food from old and lost family cook books he flips page to page what he makes for the day is what the menu is for the day. He carefully measures flour and milk to make the nearly the same meals everyday only slightly playing with flavor refining and perfecting old and beloved family recipes. Cirrus is as uniform as the seasons coming and passing.

I am in the front as patrons walk in. I ask for their wants and needs as well as if they want to sit inside or outside by a window or near the counter. The furniture is the secondary welcome, if I do my job correctly and place the right people at the right chairs and tables. People are comfortably strangers to those sat by each other either brought together by the furniture or my job of placing the patrons together.

A very lucky few get placed on Narry's couch, a blanket placed over them and Narry sits at the easel and creates. At peak hours the cafe is filled with patrons soaking up and sharing their own memories with the cafe. alot is learned and forgotten at the cafe. Every once in a while a piece of the cafe runs dry and must be replaced. Pieces of furniture are selected carefully because until the replacement runs dry of its emotions and memories it should not be removed from the cafe. 

Paeonia makes tea into the night. I usher out patrons and close out the cafe. Cirrus cleans the kitchen and prepares for the next day. The days are consistent but pleasing an ice coffee that's never the same along with an improved pastry to start the day is enough variation to keep myself going. I get to feel the love of past families and the cherished love of those just to first meet. sometimes abstractly some times closely. The sun gently diffuses its light through the blinds each morning. I get to sit strangers together and watch them talk. Carefully I choose the right seat each time a table and chair must comply with those sat with them. A day passing means even a repeat customer must be sat differently. I envy those however who don't come back to the cafe they have passed through our resting place for people from understanding and kind to wicked and destructive.