The finer things in life: A moment at Starbucks

Sometimes, really lovely moments happen, you just have to be in the right time, place and mood to see them. And you have to be aware of what's happening. Catching the tiny, delicate, unspoken and beautiful things that spark up, burn brightly and then die out all around us. These things occur unseen, unnoticed and unobserved by all but the participants.

But they're there. And they are beautiful. And glorious. Truly, if you have an hour or so one afternoon (don't do mornings - they're too busy), just sit in a coffee shop and OBSERVE.

Yes, I make fun of people, but I feel like I'm missing something sometimes, and that is the "stories." The real heart of human drama lies elsewhere, and that's what happened last week. It was brief, but beautiful - and it really affected me.

I hit the Starbucks around 3 p.m. In contrast to my usual decision to simply drink coffee and muse, I actually needed to work. I knew there was going to be trouble as soon as I entered, because every table was occupied by either people talking or a laptop-camper. A visit to the bathroom whilst it was unoccupied seemed both a wise move and a potential way to kill time while waiting for a table to clear.

My iced venti marble mocha macchiatto appeared with haste, along with a tiramisu cake pop. I love those things. By the time I collected the drink, my favorite table had actually opened up. Before anyone could lay claim, I dumped my laptop and drink off and moved over to grab some napkins.

I still don't understand why people can't walk fifteen feet to the trash can with their coffee cups, napkins and coffee stirrers. Do you leave your own homes in such a mess? Wait, don't answer that.

An hour passes. I slay an InBox full of email and knock out four blog posts. The din of an afternoon rush quiets slowly.

And then the magic happens.

An rotund man who resembles Santa Claus on the good days and a bowling ball on the bad days plunks a tiny ringleted princess down in the chair that's about four feet from my table. "Now you stay here."

She's wearing a sleeveless white and pink dress (nothing fancy, just a wee bit princessy) and white sneakers. Her dark hair is tied in two pigtails with red ribbons. She's probably about five or six and proves to be: a) a talker, b) a squirmer and c) a good eater.

He returns with a slice of pound cake, a plastic fork and a box of chocolate milk. Nothing for himself. The proud papa (I'm assuming here, he could be a grandfather - kids these days get started young) wedges his prodigious girth on the chair and proceeds to watch the girl eat, smiling at her with a beatific grin on his face the whole time. Proud, happy and entirely at peace.

For some reason, I'm captivated.

I don't know what about this hit me. Maybe because it had been a crazy day for me and these were two people who seemed to have just "figured it out." Maybe because the whole scene was making me melancholy for simpler times when all my problems could be solved with a milk and a piece of cake. Maybe because I miss sitting down with my grandparents and eating my grandmother's absolutely out-of-this-world chocolate pie.

Maybe it was just that I witnessed a special bonding moment that I'm positive no one else saw.

The little girl got up and walked - by herself - to the bathroom. Dad let her go (I was amazed, you read so much about child abductions), but she returned and he smiled at her again.

It just seemed like there was something special there - her burbling about school and dolls and how much she liked her cake and the milk and a pretty butterfly - and her dad just listening and nodding.

Dads and little girls. I hope she doesn't turn out like a Lohan in about fifteen years. Stay innocent sweetie, drink your milk, eat your cake and be true to yourself.

Sometimes, I wish things were simpler.

I wish we didn't have to grow up.

I wish all our problems could be solved with a cookie and a juice box.