Peach Italian Soda's: A Reflection

Is it really that time again? My how time does fly when the sun is out, and Lady Antebellum is wailing through the speakers. Where were we? These six months seem to be coming faster than my fingers can type, perhaps it’s time to just take a little time of reflection. Yes, I’m still broke. Onward on a little skip down memory lane, or maybe it’s a soft stroll down a windy path.

Before we begin, here’s a quick FYI; unless I’m discovered by a talent agent sometime in the near future for my mad directing skills, and given a million dollars, this blog may turn into a fifteen month blog instead of twelve. Eh, life’s full of surprises like that.

Don’t worry, next month will be fun, I promise. Sort of.

Six months ago I was on the last leg of my therapy sessions, and wondering where the hell I was going next.
I was definitely chain smoking - I hate to admit by the way. Drinking several cups of......






coffee a day


Ha, bet I got you there for a moment.

An emotional mess at best, I mean what else can you be when Sweeny Todd is your therapy?

And a terrible country music prejudice. I’m so sorry Taylor Swift.

It’s funny what happens in six months.

For dance class I gave up smoking. Realizing I could either dance or smoke after one class. Was it a loss?

I opened my eyes to the family that’s always been right in front of my self centered eyes, and found the power in asking questions, in listening without deciding what to say next, and In quiet.


For lent I gave up coffee, and decided to do the healthy thing: Green tea. Bet ya never thought I could make it did you?



For awkward singleness I took on some awkward dates... Sometimes there really isn’t a lesson to learn, and it’s okay to accept a pat on the back for the effort you’ve given.


For joy; I gave up sadness.


For a smile I surrendered to country music.

Even as I write this though I realize my mistake in this outlook. I guess it was not so much that I gave anything up, but I received something greater in the replacement of what I abandoned, and let go of. Which brought me to this thought; what if we let go of things more often? What if we shed layers of ourselves, even layers we like and enjoy, just to see what else we could get?
After a month of being smoke free I began to feel my lungs, and discover the strength my body is capable of. After replacing green tea for coffee I began to feel awake, and calmly focused on a world that was always hazy and spinning. When I stopped talking, and listened to my family, namely both of my grandmothers, I saw aged wisdom, and history overlooked - and I took a deeper look at it. Once saying ‘yes’ to a couple boys I would usually flip off I realized - I still don’t like dating casually.
After turning on some country music and letting myself go, instead of snickering, I came to realize; I think I always liked country music. Kind of like that pair of lovers who always acted like they hated each other, but in reality; it was only the flames of passion they were fanning, and mistaking for flames of hatred. Like Beatrice, and Benedict from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. Ok, I’m done.
What I’m saying; sometimes shedding layers that consist of the past doesn’t mean giving things up, or letting go, or even changing necessarily, but rather accepting what’s always been there... instead of breathing smoke, I will give my attention more wholly to oxygen. I'm still breathing, it's just a little different.
Now, for the question that seems to have many in controversy; Should I be ashamed of what I had to go through to learn the greater lesson? Do I forget what I've shed just because I have something new?



I am strong believer in remembering where you came from. In remembering the past. Not holding onto it, but remembering where it was that you began. The past is what has formed, and shaped us into what we are today, and to regret it or look poorly upon it is to be ashamed of who you are now. I am very proud of myself, and I am damn proud of how hard I worked to be where I am at in life today. It is to the past, the high’s AND the low’s, that I owe gratitude. So, no... I am not ashamed of what brought me to the greater lessons I have learned.

I am thankful for hatred. Yep, I said it. I am thankful that hatred gave me the deep appreciation I have now for those who love me. For my grandmother who will knit me a scarf after I’ve briefly admired hers.

I am grateful for those who have hurt me, for they taught me the raw meaning of saying "I forgive you" even when I'm red in the face, fists clenched. Likewise I am grateful for the stupidity of my faults, for I know now what it means to be humbled, and forgiven.

I am excited that I have felt weakness, because now I know what it must have felt like to be David killing Goliath. Powerful.

I am grateful that I live in a country that is corrupt with lies, deceit, and poverty; because it is the only way to fully soak in the beauty of those who will fight for truth, hope, and giving a tainted image beauty.

What does it mean to shed layers? To let go? To move on? Those words always roll with such a melancholy sound off our tongues. But, what if it wasn’t really suppose to be that way all the time? What if letting go could be done with a smile, and gratitude for the time it existed in our life? I don’t think moving away from the past, the horrible and happy moments, has to be done with sadness, or shame. I think, like love and like happiness, it is what we make it. It can be done with joy if we choose to look at the positive effect it has had in our life, it can be let go of with a smile if we look ahead at the future it has provided for us. It can even be remembered with peace. Because no one likes to be forgotten. I don’t think we were created to be forgotten, and neither was the past. It happened. It was there for a reason. If you try to pretend it never happened - it doesn’t change the fact that it still happened.
Living with consequences of stupid decisions, and bearing burdens of wounds others have afflicted us with is never exactly something we want to acknowledge every moment. And we don’t have to. But, I do think that how we react to it in the present moment has everything to do with what kind of person we allow ourselves to be.

When I was seventeen I worked at a little hometown coffee shop called “Shotz”, and when it first opened we all thought it was going to be a bar. It was my first job.
I have so many memories of that summer I worked there. I remember when both of my best friends, Jeanette and Lacey, got jobs there and we all got to work together. I remember meeting Josh, who became one of my very best friends that summer. I remember early mornings where we would get maybe a customer an hour, and how Josh and I passed the time by spilling boiling water out the drive thru window, and watched steam billow off the iced over pavement. I remember the smell of freshly delivered pastries at five in the morning, and our special bran muffins baking in the back ovens, how Josh and I discovered that lime flavoring in a white mocha smells exactly like body odor, and in the summer being addicted to peach italian soda’s.

I also remember when we were told someone was stealing money, and everyone began to point a finger at each other. I remember having to get up at three thirty in the morning to have to get there on time for my opening shifts. I remember nasty customers at eight in the morning who made me feel stupid, and developing carpel tunnel in my right hand from working the espresso machines. I remember my alarm not waking me up for an opening shift, and getting a call at seven thirty. I had left Josh out in the cold at four am because my alarm didn’t go off, and I wasn’t allowed to work my shift that day.

Today, I decided to write my blog at the Coffee Table Cafe. Mind you, it is not Shotz, but it brings back little memories of Shotz to me. The home like decor, the fresh pastries I can smell from their ovens, and the real espresso. I'm really sorry if you're a fan of starbucks.... but it's just not real espresso.
I didn’t exactly know what I was going to write about to be completely honest with you....until I ordered a Peach Italian Soda.


I remember the same day my alarm didn’t wake me up, and I went into Shotz almost in tears. My manager was behind the counter filling in my shift, and quite angry with me... Then there was Josh, who was so upset only because we couldn’t work together that day. It was when I started crying that he, bless his heart, tried so hard to keep me from crying, and later that day bought me my favorite can of Arizona Iced Tea.

I am thankful my alarm did not go off that day, because I would not have learned the power of a shoulder to cry on, and a friend that would do anything to help me learn to wipe away my own tears, and smile.

Memories can be painful. If we choose to let them be painful. But, I think often we forget to acknowledge that somewhere amidst the painful memories there was a friend. There was a moment. There was a stranger. There was the way the sun rose that gave you an outlook you may never have had before. There was a choice to take something positive away with the negative. I could remember Shotz with such bitterness for not showing me mercy when my alarm clock didn't go off. Or I could remember friends like Josh, who threw mercy at me recklessly when others didn't.
I could have bitterly let sorrow swallow me whole when all my dreams of going to film school didn't follow through... but, I didn't. I sat down and I started writing a blog. To be completely honest.... I'm glad it turned out that way.

Shotz may not have always provided me with the greatest memories. But, I realize now, in the long run; it shaped me, and now the memories leave a sweet taste in my mouth.... like Peach Italian Soda’s.



“I don’t regret a single thing in my past. If I hadn’t have gone through what I did I would not be able to write one song I have written today. I wouldn’t be able to help others who have gone through the same thing I did in my past, and I would not know the sweetness of comfort... had I not gone through what I did” - Lacey Mosley, lead singer of Flyleaf.