by Yvonne DiVita
As a young girl in high school, my notebook was always bulging. The papers it contained had many a scribbled note or poem or story I'd started the day before, on it. The print was smudged, because I insisted on using pencil, in those bygone days of my youth. Oh the lure of a freshly sharpened pencil, in all its pointy glory! Dare I admit that I would open that small pencil box, full of 12-15 newly sharpened pencils, and gaze at it in longing, all day long, as I trudged through the halls of my high school, never noticing much, so focused on getting home to work on my 'story' or poem, or ... my novel!
No Starbucks for me. Starbucks did not exist. Perhaps there were coffee shops I might have frequented, perhaps there were diners where I could have slipped unnoticed into a corner booth, bought a cup of coffee for .25 (yes, .25)... or a Coke for a dime, and scribbled away to my heart's delight. But, I was not aware of any near my small suburban home. And, I had to be 'home' anyway. Oh, let us not get into that!