Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

I lead a fairly busy life due to the nature of my work. I enjoy getting up early and going to bed late, squeezing out as much life as I can from the hours I am allotted. I realize, however, that I am not a machine, and I do need to take some time for myself.  One of the guilty pleasures is coffee in the morning with my husband, before he heads out to live his life.

My workday morning ritual is fairly simple. After taking care of my morning hygiene, I walk to the kitchen, slippers flip flopping on my feet, to get the daily newspaper. I don’t attempt to even look at it, though, until I have started the best part of my morning.

Making the coffee.

Coffee has such a comforting effect on my senses. I can’t remember when I started to have this lustful relationship with it, but over the years, I know that I am in a panic when I can’t have it. It’s the closest thing to an addiction I can relate it to. My daughter and I have a laugh about the time I mistakenly bought decaffeinated coffee and had a headache for a week. She said I was the headache for a week.

One of my sons bought me a coffee grinder for Christmas and so I am finally able to buy the coffee beans whole and grind them myself, eliminating a lot of waste. I grind just enough and put in the drip basket. As I let the cold water run from the tap a moment, I glance at the front page of the paper, which has now been laid on the kitchen counter. The aroma of the coffee beans sitting out starts to work its magic on me, and I am able to sit and read just a few lines.

The water finally cold enough, I pour it in to the belly of the instant coffee machine and wait for the drip drip drip of this nectar of the gods.

This the moment to be savored, my brief moment of meditation and prayer. As I sit and wait for the silky dark liquid to emerge, I close my eyes, taking in all the smells and the feelings associated with this ancient concoction, discovered so long ago. My ancestors are tea drinkers, and I will honor that tradition in the evening. But right now, I am alone with the smells, memories and emotions connected to this brief interlude. Just me and the memories.

I think about my father, and how much he loved his morning coffee, accompanied by two soft boiled eggs. Although my mother never perfected the art of making it the way he liked it, she tried every morning. I think about when I was a young married woman with babies still sleeping, how I would make a pot much larger than this one, and cook it on the stove. The percolator would be silent, until suddenly the little glass bulb atop the pot would sputter, then erupting full of activity and bubbling to its completion. I think about where I am going now that my babies are gone and I am alone. I am not indulging in self pity, just thinking about what the next leg of my journey will look like. I have begun to understand that I am to take this trip unencumbered and without burdens.

So it begins. I pour my elixir into a special cup I use only on mornings such as these. A morning which leads into a day where I will not have time for another cup until lunch time. It’s larger than a regular cup so my senses can grasp on to as much of the emotions as they can. I fill it with the sugar and the cream, never having mastered the art of drinking it black.

The cup travels with me upstairs as I dress, as I apply my face paint to meet the challenges of the day. The mask complete, I begin the workday with a quick check of my office voice mail, and then a peek at the internet to view the news and favorite haunts. I gather my things together to head for the car.

Draining the last of the liquid in the cup, I am fortified to begin another day of discovery, fascination with the human spirit, aid in the suffering of others. There is no time to focus on myself, now. My time will be siphoned off, whether it be for family, friends, co-workers, strangers.

But I have been fulfilled, my belly starting to grumble now for some breakfast. Maybe it will be two soft boiled eggs with toast. Maybe just a cup of fruit. When I get to the diner I will have decided.

As I am about to leave my little house, so much smaller than the one I used to own, I turn around and glance back into the kitchen one last time to survey the coffee pot and its contents. I am overcome by a feeling that is wonderful and soothing, a remembrance of a feeling I had long ago as a child, a feeling I recognize and want to hold on to for just a moment longer.

Peace. I am at peace. Here on earth, my heavenly connection severed for the rest of the day. But I will take it with me as I travel through out the day, throughout the neighborhood, throughout my life.

Peace.  I hope you have a cup of it too.