Last week, I was sitting at The Stem diner in the red booth at the back,

looking at the whole place, waiting for...nothing. Just happy to be there.

I noticed that a woman was crying quietly in the booth beside me.

And just over there, two old guys were taking pictures of each other.

It was one of those moments when time froze.

I noticed how quiet it was. No radio. I had never noticed that before.

All I heard was the food cooking and the clinking of cups.

These are beautiful sounds when that's all you hear.

The Stem is small. I would say it seats 30 people or so.

I like to go in when it's slow. When there are only three

or four people there.

We all sit there, static, lost in thought. The food and coffee

is always the same. The water appears seconds after I sit down.

The speed at which the food appears usually knocks me out

of my trance.

Every time I go in, I feel like I am inside of something that is

perfect and kind of pure. The cups. The plates and ketchup.

Plates lined up ready to be taken to the table.

The napkin and fork, just appearing like that.

I know there is something magical about diner rhythm.

We all know the rhythm so well. The ritual of being at the diner.

The small talk, placing the order, the sitting, the staying,

the thinking. It's always been a place where I can think.
I've gone to Tops Diner, to other diners.
It doesn't really matter. A diner is a diner.

When I leave the Stem, I feel so grateful, because I usually

leave with some new idea or drawing, and a temporary sense

of clarity. There's also the comfort of being in a place that

has not changed. At the diner, I can be anonymous, yet they

know me there. I have gone there on and off for 15 years.

Yet how come that same comforting feeling washes over me

when I am in a diner that I have never been to before?

I don't believe people stay the same. You can live several

lifetimes in the span of a few days, and you can come out

on the other side a changed person. I truly believe that.

But with the diner, things really do seem to stay the same.

There is the constant. You know what to expect.

There are so few places like that now. That makes me sad.

And for me, it's not about nostalgia. It's something else.

I think it's about the state of mind that I enter into when I'm there.

I wonder... are diners modern day temples?

Have they always been? I mean look at that. How can
that not be beautiful. In a noodle house in a stall in a loved place.
it becomes somethings else, beauty.

Getting into a daily meditation practice has always eluded me,

I just could not get it, could not integrate it into my life.
I don't get it.. I do get it.. but I don't quite buy it

I've read books that made it seem very simple.

Meditating is focusing your attention.

That's what they say, those Tibetans.

And that's something I am trying to do these days.

It sounds so simple, but it isn't.

I think that meditating has something to do with being

so totally immersed in what I am doing that I lose all sense of time.

That's always a good thing, losing a sense of time.

And there are many ways to get there.

Working on the computer does it for me when I'm working

on stuff like this, this has been gestating for months, years.

is that what a daily practice is

What about a day to day thing. I want it to be part of my day,
like breathing. Some people are able to meditate when they are
doing stuff like washing dishes, or waiting in line or driving. why be
bored when you can direct your mind, if you are aware of your mind
and your heart, if you can observe and accept whatever is there

My biggest block is that I am afraid of total boredom, of watching,
observing how much my mind wanders (I guess that is part of it
according to the Buddhists) - but the hugest block is not really

seeing the point of it.

So I have been trying to find my own ways of meditating, and started
thinking about the places where it does happen, that calm feeling.
That transported feeling. Diners. Who knew. Now I completely
understand why I have loved them for such a long time.

Diner photographs have become a cliché, the picture of the
coffee cup on the table. The booths. The counter. The swivel stools.
Can I do something different? I want to avoid that. I want to capture
that feeling of being transported. Is that possible? I love this place
so much that I tried and they said it was okay to shoot there and
do what I wanted. That is a trust thing. It is always about trust.
Taking a photograph is entering into a trust with whatever and whoever
you photograph. You want to do them justice.

all photographs of The Stem Diner lovingly taken by spiralgirl.