Monday Coffee Klatch - A Midsummer Night of Richard and Henry

Today we're settling in for a couple of hours at a place I go for coffee semi-regularly. Not actually a coffee shop, this is a public food court in town. I love it - burgers, curry, tapas, all in one place - and a full bar that serves coffee and smoothies and offers western breakfast dishes until 1:00. Basically, if I get hungry while I'm reading, I have options. 

It's a little farther from home, which is why I linger longer than at a local coffee shop. Plus, the salted coffee is on par with my regular place, only bigger. Bonus! 

Salted coffee at Dong Vui Food Court

Today, let's talk Shakespeare!     Wait! Come back!     

Don't run away! 

I get that he's intimidating. (Is he still required reading in high school?) 

I had read The Biggies: Midsummer, R&J, Hamlet, Macbeth, Much Ado, Othello. Comedy and Tragedy. But a few years ago I realized I was lacking in knowledge of his Histories. 🙄 So I decided to read one play a month, focusing on the histories. 

I'm an actress, and for decades I've had the embarrassing experience of being around theater people talking about plays they've been in - King Lear, Richard III, Henry IV - and thinking, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.

The first year I did this, it was almost all histories broken up with a couple of lighter, familiar ones. By the end of the year, I had read a whole bunch of Shakespeare's histories and could no longer remember which Richard had done what to which Henry. So I started an ongoing Shakespeare book report. Now every year gets its own document, with a section for each play. All I really do is briefly summarize what happens in each scene. It's not scholarly analysis. I'm trying to write approachable summaries. This is my personal Shakespeare survival guide: What the hell was happening here again? Now I don't have to go back to SparkNotes every time I encounter a play I've already read. 

For a while I had a chat group for people who were interested to try the challenge, but most people tapped out. The two who stayed in had already read most of his catalog so they became my Shakespeare lifelines whenever I needed the benefit of someone who had actually read the introduction. 

By now, monthly Shakespeare has become a habit. There are still plenty of plays to go, but some months I revisit one of the more confusing ones, and sometimes I choose a play I particularly like - like Macbeth every October - just to keep the fun in the challenge. 

And now, when someone quotes Richard III, I might even remember the reference!

Fiction Friday - Delayed

When Astrid's aging Honda Civic pulled into her driveway, she noticed a package on the front stoop. That was nothing new, but the hot pink post-it attached to it stuck out like a sore thumb. She pulled in under the tin-plated carport - the one ugly mark of this otherwise cute little bungalow she'd got for a song a month ago. Once the necessary interior renovations were finished, she'd have time to attend to this tin-roofed eyesore.

The pink post-it said, in meticulous, tiny script: "These arrived at my door by mistake. Happy tiling! 148b." Her tiles had arrived! She'd start on the broken down shower wall this weekend. 

The town planners didn't bother to give each house its own number on the outskirts of town. 148b sat across a narrow gravel alley from her cracker-box at 148a. An identical cracker-box house, 148c, was on the other side of 148b. After setting down the tiles inside, she leaned into the bay window, looking over at 148b. She had never met or even seen her neighbors. 

On the weekend, the doorbell rang while she was working in the bathroom. A man with a small "Chewy.com" box under his arm held out a clipboard to her. "Your neighbor's not home, but I need a signature. Can you handle it?"

"Um..." She didn't know the woman, but then again, 148b had delivered her package. She was probably safe. "Sure, I guess." Maybe now she'd meet Pink Post-it Girl. A teacher, if handwriting was any indication. 

The package was addressed to "E. McNulty" E. Elizabeth? Elinor?

After two attempts to deliver the neighbor's box on Saturday and one more try on Sunday, Astrid decided the woman was probably taking a weekend away. Later Sunday night, gritty after working and sweating in a tiny room, she decided to give it one more try. When there was still no answer she tore a sheet off the little notepad full of measurements in her pocket and scrawled. "Sorry I couldn't hand this to you in person. Hope you enjoyed your weekend away! - 148a". 

Just before tucking the note into an edge of the box, she impulsively added "Coffee sometime?" at the bottom. It was just good manners to know your neighbors in a small town like this. She listened for animal noises inside. Nothing. Of course, a cat or dog might be traveling with their owner. Or maybe the Chewy box was something for a classroom hamster. Teachers did stuff like that, right?

Astrid was out of town at a conference for most of the next week. She was greeted at her carport on Friday night by a tall, narrow box leaning against the house under the shelter of the carport roof - her shower fixtures! No pink post-it this time. She felt a tiny drop of disappointment, but at least it meant they got her address right. Carefully pulling past the box, she saw two large potted plants sheltering beyond it. That meant the nursery dropped by without calling first to be sure she was home.

Moving it all inside, she noticed an index card on a stake in the largest planter. In her neighbor's precise cursive was: "I'm not spying, but didn't see your car for three days, so I took the liberty of watering these beauties. Hope that's okay. - 148b". Then a line below that: "I don't drink coffee, but could meet for a cup of tea."

Astrid smiled. The pink post-it had conjured up a young, 20-something teacher. Tea seemed more mature - maybe 40-ish? Possibly a high school Lit teacher. Tea and a good book seemed like a fair pairing. She was looking forward to meeting this stranger even more now. At 36, she'd have more in common with someone in their 40s. 

Saturday was bright and sunny, so Astrid rented a paint stripper from the big DIY store and got to work on the back of the house. She hadn't noticed the colorful van pull up into the alley, but when a woman in her peripheral vision waved frantically at her through the carport Astrid turned off the machine and moved one of her ear protectors. 

"Hi, I'm Sally from the library. Sorry to interrupt your work, but I'm delivering books for Emil and not getting an answer. Can I leave them with you?"

Astrid's ears were ringing, even though she'd had protection. "Sure," she shouted back. "Can you just set them on that bench?" So her neighbor's name was Amy. How was that spelled with an initial E? Sally set the books on the workbench and looked warily at Astrid, as if not trusting someone using power tools with such a precious commodity. They smiled and nodded at each other and Astrid restarted the stripper.

When there wasn't enough daylight to keep working outside, she packed up the gear and cleaned up her mess. She had planned to go inside, but clearing the work bench uncovered the books. Thank God libraries cover their books in those plastic slip-covers! Astrid hesitated over the option to shower before trying Amy's door. "She's probably not gonna be there anyway." With that thought in mind, Astrid left on her paint-chip-encrusted work clothes and walked across the alley.

To her great surprise, the door was opened after a moment's delay. By a man leaning on a wooden cane. "Yes?"

"Oh! Hi! Uh...the library dropped off some books for Amy. Is she home?" Maybe Amy's father was visiting.

The man's face broke into a wide smile. "Emil, not Amy." He held out his free hand. "Emil McNulty, nice to finally meet you, Ms. Easterbrook."

A brief laugh escaped her open mouth. "You're not a woman!"

His smile turned into a chuckle. "Was it the pink post-its?"

She relaxed. "That, and your handwriting. It's so - perfect!" 

"Occupational hazard. I was an engineer. Would you care to come in for some tea, Astrid?"

"Oh!" She looked down at her clothes. "I'd love to, but I'd leave paint chips all over your immaculate living room." The house was indeed neat as a pin. A moving shadow caught her eye as she looked down at it. He noticed and followed her gaze to a large tortoise lumbering toward the open door.

"That's Clarence. We've survived worse than paint chips, but I'd better step outside and close the door or he'll run away." He said that with a wink and they both laughed. 

She looked from Emil to Clarence and the pristine room beyond and said, "I have to admit, you're not at all what I expected."

"I could say the same for you," he said as he stepped out to join her, ushering them to a pair of chairs on the little patio next to his steps.

"Me? What did you expect?"

He gave a shrug and said, "Based on the deliveries? Frankly, I thought you were a man." 

I called this one "Delayed" mostly because I'm a day late finishing it. Life got in the way. But I thought it also fit the way the neighbors' meeting kept being delayed. What title would you give it? Have you ever assumed something about someone and later found out you were completely wrong? 

Wednesday Poetry Corner - Kubla Khan with a Twist

It hasn't rained this week, so in lieu of a rainy day haiku, here is one of my favorite poems that I love even though I haven't the foggiest what he's on about!

Kubla Khan 
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

   Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round;

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:

And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;

And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

   The shadow of the dome of pleasure

   Floated midway on the waves;

   Where was heard the mingled measure

   From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

   A damsel with a dulcimer

   In a vision once I saw:

   It was an Abyssinian maid

   And on her dulcimer she played,

   Singing of Mount Abora.

   Could I revive within me

   Her symphony and song,

   To such a deep delight ’twould win me,

That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

 

Nine years ago, while living in China, I visited "The Great Khan's Summer Palace". (Full post about it, here.) Although the place was established by Genghis Khan, I like to think his grandson Kublai enjoyed it during his reign, too. 

The summer palace I saw is not recognizable as Coleridge's dream-induced "pleasure-dome" - really, it was a spacious city of yurts - but what would you expect of a man who conquered the continent on horseback? And these were not your average campground fare. They were basically mini-palaces of felt. Of course, with dozens of wives and concubines housed in their own yurts, "pleasure-dome" might not be such a ridiculous phrase. 

A few pictures from my trip, for comparison. 

The gate to the palace grounds

It's no Xi'an, but all these soldier statues look paralyzed in action.

A yurt big enough to house a throne room and audience chamber

So much space!

I realize Coleridge claimed to have dreamed the poem after taking laudanum... so maybe Xanadu has nothing to do with the Khans after all? 

 

Monday Coffee Klatch - Back Alley Beaches

Welcome back to the corner of Book Street and Beverage Boulevard. Today I'm introducing you to my second most common coffee hangout.

Last week I compared the rock garden café with the rice paddy overlook I used to frequent in Hoi An. Today we've downgraded from "rock garden" to "slightly green-ified alley."

This cafe actually caters to tourists with a lovely air-conditioned interior, but because it's right on the main drag, there's no room for tables out front. Instead, they've created little ledge gardens and tucked a few tables into the adjacent alley. Today I ordered a salted coffee and a strawberry-and-cream croissant to enjoy in the meager shade while looking out at the ocean. See it?

My view from the alley.

Just a little peek.

There, up and to the right of the trash can.

Notice I didn't say beach. Along this stretch of Vietnam's coast, there isn't much of one - it's mostly embankment. But when the tide cooperates, I can still wriggle my toes in the sand.

Not much going on here.

But enough about the coffee. On to the books!

Since last week, I finished The Shepherd's Hut. Awesome. Better than I expected, to be honest. Winton isn't an author who spells everything out for the reader, and I really respect that.

After finishing that one I started Revival by Stephen King. There was a preview chapter tucked into the back of another King novel I read months ago, and I immediately added it to my "want to read" list. Now I'm finally in it. I'm no speed-reader, but I'm already nearing the climax. In typical King fashion, the words fly by. It makes him very easy to read.

A lot of people avoid Stephen King because of the "horror" label. For years, I was one of them. But they're not all like that. Even as far into this book as I am, nothing supernatural has actually happened. Nothing more horrific than the very real horrors of life, death, and addiction. There have been subtle hints that something far stranger may be waiting at the end, though, and I'm looking forward to seeing how it all unfolds.

Have you ever read Stephen King? What did you think?

I tried one of his books when I was about 12 or 13 - a big one, possibly a short story collection - and it creeped me out enough that I never finished it. I waited far too long to pick up another.

These days, he's one of my go-tos.

Fiction Friday - Reasonable Precautions

 

People were watching me because I was Betty's sister. 

No one told me to my face, but I kept hearing it in low voices whenever I walked past clutches of people who disagreed with the plan. "Watch Betty's sister." "Of course Betty's in on it." "Her sister might drop a hint." Why did they care? If they weren't part of the plan, they didn't need to know. What would they do, stop us? 

By lunchtime, I knew I was a liability. 

The meeting was on the top floor. Naturally, everyone wanted to eat their lunch up there to see what would happen. The terrace there had a big picnic table and a bunch of little round tables where people broke into groups and talked in low voices. I didn't trust it. Most of these people should be downstairs. 

Olivia sat at the picnic table, leaning into an intense conversation with Betty, but people drifted over every few minutes to ask a question, sort out a detail of the plan, or bring fresh coffee. She was always polite, but it wasn't hard to see she and Betty had things to discuss. They alternated who rocked the baby-carrier on the table as they talked.

Tension was high as the scheduled meeting time passed. Finally a man in a dark suit and aviators burst through the stairwell door, scanned the area, and pressed the button to call the elevator. When the elevator doors opened, it was a security team. More dark suits. Earpieces. Calm expressions. The sort of people who notice everything without appearing to look anywhere. They fanned out and stationed themselves around the perimeter. 

Now, not only was I watched by scoffers on our side, but trained guards?

I was supposed to carry the diaper bag in the exchange but I passed it to Caden. "You'll have to do it." 

He frowned. "Why?" 

I angled my head behind me towards the tables on the terrace. "They're watching me." He didn't ask who. He simply took the bag. 

Just then, someone arrived carrying several cases of Girl Scout Cookies and set them on the floor beside a dumbfounded Olivia. I'd forgotten to order any this year, so I wandered over to ask whether there were extras. Halfway through asking for a box of Tagalongs, it hit me. "They'll expect us to cheat," came out of my mouth before I could think. 

Olivia looked up. "That's the whole point." 

"No." I busied myself opening the cartons of cookies, looking helpful while talking quietly. "They'll expect us to think they're not expecting it." She stared at me. I left her there and caught Caden before he disappeared around a pillar. "Ask to check the baby's health, offer them the same chance with ours." 

"Our baby?" 

"Yeah, the baby Betty and Olivia are rocking. For privacy, recommend the classroom just off the terrace." 

"If we're both checking babies in the same room, they'll be watching our every move." 

"If we invite them first, they'll relax. Besides, we're not doing anything yet." 

Caden raised an eyebrow. "We're not?" 

"You'll be checking to be sure the baby is healthy before letting Olivia spend some time with her, right? Say it's for liability. No cuts or bruises they can blame on us later. But here's the thing: If they're smart, they've marked that baby somehow. Find the marking, but don't be obvious. Just remember where it is and what it looks like. Then, while Olivia has their baby, maybe you conveniently notice that our baby needs a diaper change?"

"Nah, I'll get Betty to notice it - that's more believable." 

"Whatever. But you need to do the diaper change, so you can mark our baby in exactly the same place. Take the baby into that same classroom. I have permanent markers tucked under a book on that old half-broken cabinet that you can use. Got it?"

He looked at me in a stunned silence. "You're certain about this?" 

"No," I admitted. "I'm terrified." 

The elevator chimed. The other delegation had arrived. My lunch-eating colleagues watched as Olivia shook hands with a well-dressed, white-haired man who oozed "lawyer" from every pore. Nobody mentioned the babies.

Caden stepped up before any babies changed hands and did exactly as I suggested. 

A moment after the "inspection" parties returned to the terrace, Olivia was cooing at the baby that had been taken from her in the hospital while a stern looking guard watched the carrier of the baby she had been raising for the last year. Soon enough, Betty walked past the guard, taking her empty coffee cup to the coffee service. She sniffed, leaned down to the carrier, sniffed again and said something to the guard, who looked horrified. 

A snap of her fingers and Caden came over. He took the baby carrier into the classroom, accompanied by the guard. If anyone could do this, it was Caden.  

No one was watching when they emerged, except me. I couldn't make out whether our plan had worked. 

The meeting dissolved with surprising speed. Olivia held the baby a little tighter than before as she watched the others leave. I followed the security team across to the elevator. Just before the doors opened, one of the guards stopped. He tapped the shoulder of the man holding the baby carrier. From behind, I couldn't see his hands, only movement of his shoulders as he leaned over the baby. But the lawyer, already standing in the elevator, watched with interest. When the guard straightened, he met the lawyer's eyes and gave the slightest nod. 

As the others entered the elevator around him the lawyer looked out the doors. Straight at me. 

He smiled. Not warmly. Not triumphantly. Simply... knowingly. 

The elevator doors slid shut. 

I blew out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Which one of us had been outplayed?

Today's Fiction Friday was inspired by a BIZARRE dream I had that woke me two nights ago. I snuck into the bathroom and spoke it into my phone so I wouldn't forget it when I woke up because WTF? If I wrote stories about all the weird dreams I had, I guess I'd never need to follow reader suggestions. Of course, if you have a story prompt burning in your brain, share it in a comment and I'll give it a whirl!

Wednesday Poetry Corner - Short and Sweet

Tickling the tin roof.
Dusting of drizzle, then done.
Hardly worth haiku.

<haiku written by me on Monday 27.07.2026, Mui Ne, Vietnam>

 Later rain came back, 
Forcing my umbrella up,
Heading to pizza. 

See what I mean? That 5-7-5 gets stuck in the brain! 

And that's all I have to say related to poetry today. Do you have a favorite poem? Do you not really think about poetry, or definitely not like it? 

I'm keeping this super-short because I need to spend more time figuring out my commenting issue! It's driving me crazy, but I have an idea. Hopefully I can fix it today. Wish me luck! I'd love to rejoin the conversation.

Monday Coffee Klatch: Gardens and Slang

Welcome to today's Coffee Klatch! ☕

Where are we meeting today?

This is my favorite coffee spot in town. So far.

I've always loved a garden café. My favorite one in Hoi An overlooked rice paddies.

Lush. Green. Complete with a proper lotus pond (not visible here).

Mui Ne tells a different story. It's drier, so "lotus pond" gives way to "rock garden." 

But... a rock garden is still a garden, and beautiful in its own way. The one in the top photo has a magnificent mango tree in the middle. You can't really tell, though; I seem to have missed mango season.

In both pictures, I have a salted coffee on my table. What's your pleasure? Coffee? Tea? Juice? Or, if you're reading this later in the day... Wine? Milo? A sleepy cup of warm milk?

I promised Mondays would be about books and coffee, so let's get to the books.

This week I'm reading The Shepherd's Hut by Tim Winton, a well-known Australian author. I'm about three-quarters of the way through, and I genuinely have no idea where it's going. If you've read it, please don't spoil the ending! 

The story is a bit dark. Raw. Following a kid who's been through some rough stuff. But the thing that surprised me most wasn't the plot - it was the language. There's so much Aussie slang!

You know those books that seem to have their own dialect? (I'm looking at you, A Clockwork Orange... and you too, Terry Pratchett's Tiffany Aching books!) This is one of those.

I'm lucky enough to have several Australian friends, so I don't get completely lost, but I still find myself looking things up on a regular basis. Thankfully I'm reading it on my Kindle. Some of the more common slang can be explained with a quick underline. The rest? Google and my Aussie pals to the rescue!

For example: 

Flash = good, healthy, or in decent shape. 
Crook = "sick or unwell", or alternatively "angry, cross, or telling someone off"
Bricking it = being extremely scared/terrified

So... what are you reading at the moment? What makes that book unique for you?