By Bar­bara White

In May and June, Princeton’s Small World Cof­fee invited its loyal patrons (i.e., all us depen­dent, unre­pen­tant, overly ener­gized, and often allit­er­a­tive, addicts) to enter their “Joe to Go” Photo Con­test on Twit­ter.  I was one of three win­ners.   The con­test closed just as I was mak­ing a drive to Cape Bre­ton, Nova Sco­tia, so I took a cup with me for com­pany and got, um, a lit­tle, well, involved in pho­tograph­ing my to-go-1000-miles cup as I pro­ceeded North and more North.  (Candy, who helped me with the first photo, said, “Oh! It’s kind of like Flat Stan­ley!”)  So the archive below not only doc­u­ments my two-day drive but also proves—not that any proof is needed—that the high octane level of Small World Cof­fee hypes up the recip­i­ent as far away as Canada, and even if there is noth­ing left in the cup …

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Taste of Maine, Wool­wich: Candy asks, “Reg­u­lar or jumbo?” Already at the edge, I just snap.

[Candy is the name not of the lob­ster, but rather of the restau­rant man­ager who kindly asked what size lob­ster I pre­ferred and even staged this stun­ning com­po­si­tion.  Geoff and Scott pointed out that the claw bands are a good idea given the power of the cup’s con­tents.  And Mark asked, “Did you eat your model after the shoot?  I’ve heard of preda­tory pho­tog­ra­phers, but this would sort of take it up a notch.”   I did not eat my model, but only because I did not think of mak­ing the photo until after I had already eaten a lob­ster roll.  Candy even turned Ms. Reg­u­lar and Mr. Jumbo over in order to give me a les­son on lob­ster gen­i­talia after we took the photo.  (I am not mak­ing this up!)]

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“Katahdin” means “great­est moun­tain,” and yet, she seems a tiny bit shy …

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The inner hori­zon and beyond. As the book says, empti­ness is fullness.

 

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Small Potato, red potato … sung to this melody.

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Remem­ber Tex­aco? A 1970s fuel stop, before there was triple dou­ble soy latte.

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Curi­ous cus­tom: no border-crossing doc­u­men­ta­tion per­mit­ted. (But the offi­cial was very polite about it.  She asked if I had any weapons, and I told her “Just a shakuhachi.”)  Cana­dian line’s behind the cup.

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It’s time to …

(at least for tonight). Allez! Bonne nuit, Petit Monde.

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Day 2.  Fred­er­ic­ton, New Brunswick: “Ceçi n’est pas un windmolen.”

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They must be attend­ing; haven’t seen any. Too bad: eager to know which plural they prefer.

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Dear Small World, wish you were here. Really. Grumpy with no monkey.

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‘Hop­ing all is well in Nova Jersia.

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A Tren­ton Dou­ble, to go … with a some air, a droplet of sweat, a stroke and a half-spin.

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Speed­ing at twice the tem­per­a­ture rather than the other way ’round. Nice change.

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Only 19 more days to go before my next dou­ble soy latte … can’t wait to pick up that $10 prize.