Rekindled!

This morning I read the newspaper headlines as I carried the paper in from the box. The headline said “Rekindled.” “Oh no!” I thought. A favorite coffee spot has burned down—Java Jo’s in Berlin. Behind Java Jo’s in the same building is Nature’s Market, a thriving health food store I often visit when I’m in Berlin.

I'd been there on Monday when I decided to “go south” and visit several furniture stores and outlets. I was looking for an end table for my mother-in-law. She’s housebound and spends a lot of time in her recliner-lift chair. The clutter beside her chair was piling up and the wobbly round table had outlived its usefulness. I’m not much of a healthcare worker but I do love shopping and “homemaking arts” as I like to refer to my nesting instincts. Shopping for the new table was a good job for me.

After stopping at several stores, looking for possibilities, I ended up in Berlin. This little town is a “tourist trap” full of all kinds of interesting shops. It’s a great place to go for a personal get-away when I don’t have much time to get away. I parked near Zincks, the fabric outlet and went into a furniture place nearby. Then I walked down the street to Java Jo’s thinking I’d get a sandwich and coffee. It was past lunch time. The town can be a zoo during tourist season but on a winter Monday, things were pretty quiet. I bought a chicken salad croissant, a cup of coffee and a bottle of water for $7. I sat at the bar overlooking the street and read an article about the history of the old railroad station that was moved trail-side last summer.

When I finished my food, I walked to the back of Java Jo’s and entered the health food store. Someone working at the coffee shop said: “We should probably get out of the building. I don’t believe this day!” She was shaking her head. “There’s a fire upstairs I think.” She went toward the stairs and I noticed a bit of smoke and the odor of what might have been an electrical fire—or melting plastic. Someone was on the phone calmly calling 9-1-1. I went into the health food store. Customers were paying for their stuff and everyone was leaving, so I gave up on shopping there.

I went across the street to Ms. Gadgets. Soon fire trucks came charging down the street. Traffic backed up on the road and I could see smoke coming out of the building. I left Berlin and eventually found the required end table. On Tuesday the newspaper had a front page article about the fire, which had been put out. Store owners had gone back to clean up smoke damage and said they were thankful the damage was minimal.

This morning the news was different. During the early morning hours, the fire rekindled and the building and contents were destroyed except for a few large items that were removed. The building is still standing but will need to be torn down. It was one of the oldest buildings in the town—gone.

It was a comfy place with good coffee. I remember how my friend Marilyn and I went there for a special lunch the week before she left for two years in Liberia. I remember a time I’d read some of my work at a small poetry reading there. I remember a delicious cranberry-turkey sandwich with alfalfa sprouts I shared there with my daughter some years back.

Finally, I thought about the word “re-kindled” (I like to think about words and their meanings). “Rekindled” is another one of those words we use sometimes in a spiritual way. We talk about how the Spirit will “rekindle” a holy fire within us—spark renewal.

Interestingly, while I sat in Java Jo’s on Monday afternoon, I was reading about the way the old depot was renewed when they moved it to the trail-side and re-named it Hipp Station--this is a better fate for an historic building. "Rekindled" might be a good word in the right place and time. But for me, countless patrons, and the owners of Java Jo’s and the other businesses who’ve been left temporarily homeless, "rekindled!" is language that leaves us cold. As I’ve said before—metaphorical language has its limitations.

For now, the best I can do with this experience is note the ironic connections. I, Jo--thus called by my family for most of my life--was the last person to order a cup of “joe” at Java Jo’s. This, apparently, is my dubious distinction. What else can I think or say about this strange and ironic turn of events?