Of Coffee

Of coffee: 

my history of coffee - I've enjoyed coffee for most of my adult life, first discovering it's pleasure and ability to wake me me in my early 20's working an early shift at a job that didn't require much interaction with others until later in the day and the caffeine served to keep to keep me alert throughout my morning. At first I drank it for this benefit alone and only later acquired an appreciation for its bitter taste. I was a several cup of day drinker, without thought of being kept awake, coffee fit into my active lifestyle perfectly and seemed to have no negative effects on my health or sleep.

much later in my life, making and enjoying coffee became a small bond shared with my parents as I became a caregiver, aiding my father in his effort to keep my mom at home for as long as possible through her long struggle through Alzheimer's. My father particularly enjoyed a cup or two each day and reluctantly switched to decaf after suffering a stroke in his later years. Even then we still enjoyed the ritual of preparing coffee, small talk and watching the news together, an easy, unspoken of connection. 

after our divorce my wife and I still had a ritual of coffee together, a not severed connection that kept us close, intimately involved in each other's life. Our plans were shared, concerns aired, and our conversations kept us in the most important aspect of a true relationship. We communicated, deeply so, how important we remained to each other by keeping this ritual alive.

my own health concerns keep me to single cup per day, nothing serious, but it seems that coffee agrees less with me now, not as easy on my system as it once was, and any more than this seems to affect the quality and ease of my sleep. So I keep it to that single cup of day, it's a ritual of my writing now, still hours before this hint of dawn, my mind quiet from early meditation, and the act of preparation brings me to the task at hand, writing whatever words come inspired to me no matter how long the wait. 

a long owned mug sitting on my desk.

a gift from my mother long ago. 

really, a single cup of coffee is all I need, savoring its bitter taste, feeling the long connection of what feels like infinite cups shared with my parents, with my wife through many years, and now in the aloneness of these early, early mornings when it often feels like memories are all I have left. Yet this single cup, a link, and the words come to me each morning, these moments are never really kept alone - it's a ritual still somehow performed together, across porous borders of time and distance, an intimacy that's always shared between us. 

 and every cup tells me this is so. 

~

Peace, Eric