Tag Archive | Coffee

Apparently, it’s Monday

I woke up this morning tired. I’m still tired. My brain is lost in a mucky fog. I’m forming a search party to go in and find it, if anyone is interested. I could use the help.

I blame Wikipedia. Seriously, I was sourcing out some info for an article on vitamin supplements and one click led to another until I was bookmarking recipes I know I’ll never make. Somehow I ended up taking a Buzzfeed quiz about how much of a foodie I was, turns out I’m not much of one, no new news there. I could barely keep my eyes open by then.

So, back to this morning. Zombie. I needed coffee. Technically, I’d already had a cup, my sweet husband leaves one by my bedside every morning, but I couldn’t remember drinking it so I quite obviously needed more. Keurig to the rescue.

I mindlessly scooped in my cream, stirred my in my sugar and took a sip. Something was wrong. Turns out you need to put a coffee pod in the damn thing.

I got it right the second time around.

Things to do, places to go. I got dressed. I went . . . had to come back home to change my shoes. sigh

I’m taking a nap.

National Coffee Day! Celebrate!!

Sep29

☕️ Coffee ☕️

September 29 is National Coffee Day. Officially. Of course, for some of us, this is an every day celebration.

*to my family – specifically my husband, I am NOT making this up. It’s a thing. Bring me home a venti.

I’m currently savoring my second cup. I plan on continuing my celebration of this delightful beverage throughout the day.

I love coffee. Adore it. Hot, iced, luke warm . . . whatever. Put it in a cup and gimme it. Sprinkle in some sugar and pour the cream. Bliss.

Addicted? Perhaps.

There are worse things, like crack or decaf.

I wasn’t always a coffee connoisseur, that was before I had kids. Four of them. Four of them. Coffee found me, wrapped me in a sweet, warm hug and said, “Let me help.” We’ve been inseparable since.

In honor of this beloved beverage, I’d like to share a few of my caffeinated musings about . . . Coffee.

First, a few Haikus

My dear coffee plant
thank you for giving your seeds
so I can wake up

Perfect little bean
finely ground and brewed
liquid love for me

White blooms and red fruit
with a little seed inside
coffea arabica tree

And now, a poem

A Token of His Love

When the night is long
and sleep eludes me
I think of you
until the solace
of slumber
transforms thought
into dream.

I drift within illusion
until I know you’re
by my side,
and I wake
to drink you in.

Your warmth enlivens me,
your taste lingers sweet
upon my lips,
awakening my senses,
stirring my soul,
leaving me longing
for more,
and always,
always, I rise
to pour myself
another cup . . .

Happy Coffee Day!

A Token of His Love

Dec7

When the night is long
and sleep eludes me
I think of you
until the solace
of slumber
transforms thought
into dream.

I drift within illusion
until I know you’re
by my side,
and I wake
to drink you in.

Your warmth enlivens me,
your taste lingers sweet
upon my lips,
awakening my senses,
stirring my soul,
leaving me longing
for more,
and always,
always, I rise
to pour myself
another cup . . .

My husband loves me. I know this because he brings me coffee every morning. Over the years, I have come to equate this sweet gesture with love. It may simply be nothing more than a desire to keep me from going into caffeine withdrawals, which he would then have to deal with he comes home after a hard days work, but I prefer to think of it as a sign of his undying love and affection for me.

There was this one day though . . .

I awoke to an empty nightstand. No hot cup of coffee awaiting me. I didn’t remember him waking me to say goodbye, have a good day, or getting my morning kiss. I kind of started to panic.

I figured he’d passed away in the kitchen.

I know, morbid, but I was really tired and hadn’t had any coffee yet, so I wasn’t thinking clearly. I knew I had to get up and go check his pulse and stuff before the kids got out of bed, but I was in mourning and having a hard time extracting myself from the cocoon of covers I was snuggled up in. I was thinking about who to call first and what I would wear to the funeral. It was a really awful way to begin a new day.

I pulled myself together as much as I could and tiptoed down the hallway to peek into the kitchen, his body wasn’t there. He must have breathed his last breath in the garage, or maybe even in the driveway. I checked. He was nowhere to be found. Obviously, he must have been kidnapped as he was pulling the motorcycle out of the garage.

I went back into the empty kitchen and put on a pot of coffee while I tried to remember the number for 911, but then my phone dinged. It was a text. I wondered if the police texted people these days, maybe they found him already and were letting me know.

I readied myself for whatever news awaited me and swiped the screen. The message was from him, or maybe his kidnappers, there was no way to know until I read it.

‘Just got to work – late. Was in a rush this morning. I love you. Make you some coffee when I get home.’

You know what? I was pissed. Then I was relieved. Then I was pissed. How could he put me through all that turmoil? I was prepared to go identify his body! After a couple cups of coffee I realized how silly I was being and I was actually pretty jazzed about getting a bonus cup of coffee when he got home.

That was the last time we stayed up late binging on Netflix.

If someone pissed in your coffee, it wasn’t me

Nov15

I have no idea what made him so grumpy, but boy was he grumpy. We both scanned shelves in the small aisle of size 8 women’s shoes, there’s no way he wore a size 8, so maybe that’s why he was grumpy. Could have been the poor selection, I don’t know. He huffed at me as he pushed past to seek out other things and other people to grumble about. I tried to smile at him, just a little smile though, I think the frown he returned may have been grumpy enough to cause some new frown lines on his weathered face.

Finding nothing that didn’t look like Lady Ga-Ga would go ga-ga over, I decided to call quits on my unsuccessful shopping adventure and popped in line to purchase a cold drink, unsuccessful shopping makes me thirsty. Grumpy-boots lined up behind me. I say behind out of technicality, he was way up in my personal space, mumbling under his breath about moving it along.

When the person in front of me took a step forward, grumpy-boots took one, even if I hadn’t yet. Annoyed, I turned to him and asked if someone had pissed in his coffee.

“Pissed what?”

“Pissed in your coffee. Did someone piss in your coffee this morning? Because it wasn’t me . . .”

Grumpy-pants took a step back, I thought maybe I should have kept my trap shut, but then – he started to chuckle. That chuckle turned into a cackle and that frown of his looked remarkably like a smile.

“I suppose they did.”

My turn to pay, as I walked away, I heard him tell the cashier to hurry it up, he had to get home and piss in someone’s coffee.

Mornings are hard . . .

Nov8

. . . and glorious and beautiful and – early. Truth be told, I love mornings, I just wish they came a little later in the day.

I love the air in the mornings, it’s different somehow, don’t you think? It seems fresher and crisper. Mornings sound different, they even smell different.

Morning Glory, it must be grand . . .

When the sun rises, the birds outside my window start to sing a sweet morning song to welcome each new day (every frickin day) as it begins, sometimes I want to shoot them. Shoo, them. I meant shoo them, like away. What kind of monster do you think I am? (a grouchy, tired one) Well yes, generally speaking, I kind of am. Just in the mornings, mind you. OK, sometimes during the afternoon as well. And maybe the evening, a little and only sometimes. Depends on how loud and long those birds serenaded the morning.

I’ve never been an early riser, it doesn’t even matter how much or how little sleep I had the night before. The world just gets moving before I do. My poor mother, she had one hell of a time getting me up for school when I was a kid. Now I’m not saying she has any special powers, she’s not some supernatural spell-caster or anything like that, BUT, I am fairly certain she somehow saw to it that my own children would be difficult little beasts to rouse in the mornings just like I was.

Well played, Mom. Well played indeed.

My husband, bless his well rested soul, he manages to wake before the sun without feeling the need to choke people. I admire that, I don’t understand it, but I admire it. The best part about his early morning weirdness is the coffee. That sweet man makes me coffee every morning and sets it on my nightstand for me. I used to think it was because he loved me, now I know it’s more of a self-defense kind of thing, an offering to appease and soften me up before I stumble out of bed.

Most mornings it helps, but there are days, like today, when one cup just isn’t enough. Alright, it’s everyday. One is never enough. I’m on my own for that second cup though, it’s tough. It really is.

Coffee Shop Blessing – So Many Angels In Our Midst

Sep9

Francois Boucher

I am becoming increasingly convinced my coffee shop is a place where angels gather. I’ve been witness to many unexpected and very much needed blessings while standing in line for a caffeinated concoction. Yesterday was no exception, it was however, exceptional.

Hot, hot, hot. While beautiful, the day was sticky, sweaty, and a little miserable to be quite honest. I almost didn’t go in, I feared someone might see the beads of sweat trickling from my forehead and conclude I had a tropical ailment of some sort.

My desire for the relief and happiness a venti iced coffee would bring won out, as I knew it would. I was relieved, and a little grossed out to see most everyone else eagerly waiting in line was glistening with the heat of the day as well.

The man in front of me seemed to be melting. He was a big guy. Big. I would hazard a guess at 6 feet tall and certainly well over 200 pounds, most likely a fair bit more. He was fidgety. One step to the side, two steps back, one forward, etc..

He looked down at me, my non-statuesque height of 5’3 left me feeling like a little girl in comparison. He said, “She wants a vanilla bean with extra caramel. You ever hear of such a thing? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

I smiled and said it sounded too sweet for my taste, just coffee and cream with a touch of sweetness for me. He held up the dollar bills in his hand, “She gave me seven dollars and didn’t even tell me what size to get, you believe that?”

“I guess you can get her any size then, I’d go for the big one.”

He started chuckling which led to a full blown belly laugh, “I see, you want me to go and make her really happy today, alright,”

He began telling me all about their day at the mall, what his wife was buying and why, his unfortunate happenstance of bringing her on a day Macy’s was having a sale. I laughed and said, “Isn’t Macy’s always having a sale?”

With that, the belly laughter returned. There was silence between us as he ordered and then it was my turn. He’d stepped outside for a moment to sneak a smoke as I heard him tell the barista. When he returned, surprisingly and thankfully smelling smoke free, he began humming a tune. It was lovely.

I told him the tune he was singing would be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. His already wide grin grew. “You’ll like this.” he said as he stepped closer to me. He began to sing to me. My second coffee shop serenade.

It was beautiful, positively beautiful. It was about love and devotion, a sweet blend of gospel and soft R&B. When he’d sang a few lines he asked, “You hear that one before?” I told him I hadn’t but I loved it. He said he was going to let me in on a secret. He was writing it.

He looked me in the eyes and asked, “You know who that’s about?” I said, “I think I do.” He laughed, “That’s right, it’s about my Jesus, my Lord and savior,” and he began to sing it again. He grabbed the venti vanilla bean frap with extra caramel for his wife and shuffled out the door still singing.

I really think that little coffee shop is a place where angels come to gather.

Crystal R. Cook

Seriously? Really? My brain – it fails.

Sep2

Learning from experience . . . apparently, I don’t.

First the cup . . . FIRST.

https://theqwietmuse.com/2014/08/19/dont-forget-the-cup/

Last time it was worse . . .

Blink if you weren’t already well aware *Yawn

Aug30

People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint – it’s more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly . . . time-y wimey . . . stuff.

Wonderfully, wisely and wittily explained by 10. If you don’t readily know the reference I reluctantly forgive you. This time. Well, sort of, but not really. Go ahead and blink.

It’s 4:30. In the morning. What I was fairly certain was still today became yesterday when I looked at the clock after several hours of tossing and turning in an unsuccessful bid for sweet and solid sleep, and an inconvenient midnight need to cleanse my bathroom due to an unexpected, albeit minor, invasion of ants. Ants are assholes, in case you weren’t already well aware.

So tomorrow is now and I’ve not slept since the day before and my current state of mind is ever so slightly, just a bit, wibbly wobbly. More so than my norm. What I wouldn’t give for a police box in Tardis blue to take me back the moment I forgot to take that blasted little lullaby in a bottle of a pill that helps me fall asleep.

My internal clock decided quite some time ago to tender its resignation, leaving me very much awake and on my own, no es bueno for me. My body went on strike, vowing to stay awake until its demand for the missing ticking be met, and since my turncoat timepiece abandoned me, I had no choice but to seek pharmaceutical relief. Internal clocks are assholes, in case you weren’t already well aware.

The sun will soon be up and I will be a shell of a person sipping my coffee like a zombie with a throbbing headache I can already feel drumming . . . Can’t you hear it? Inside my head. I thought it would stop. But it never does. It never, ever stops. Inside my head. The drumming, the constant drumming.

Oh, where is a doctor when you need one. Again, quasi forgiveness if you’ve no idea what I am blathering on about. Today is Saturday, I just remembered I do in fact have an appointment to see The Doctor. New guy, only one visit so far, we’ll see how good he is. Capaldi, don’t fail me. I know you can’t hear me, but you should have kept the facial hair. I blame Moffet of course.

I swear I keep feeling ants. I may as well get that coffee brewing, it is going to be a long, long day and I cannot stop yawning. Yawns are assholes, in case you weren’t already well aware.

Crystal R. Cook

ish day . . .

Aug26

I keep telling myself I need to get up and do something at least relatively productive today. The problem is, I don’t much care for being told what to do, so I am rather at odds with myself at the moment. On one hand, I am trying to convince myself it’s my own personal desire to rise and be responsible, on the other, I am my own authority figure and feel the need to rebel.

I’m fairly certain I’ve mentioned it before, but in case you missed it, I’m ~~not entirely~~ crazy. I can’t be the only one with an ongoing, internal discourse in regard to how best spend the day ahead. At the heart of this particular issue is this, I’m tired. Physically, I’m awake, chipper even. Alright, that’s an exaggeration almost tantamount to a lie, but I am awake and in a fairly fair(ish) mood. It will be safe to remove the ish once I’ve finished my coffee, at least I am fairly certain(ish) it will be.

My current level of tired goes beyond the physical. I am weary in many ways at my very core. It’s like everything in me just realized it’s been running on empty for too long and the gears have ground to a halt. Maybe this is why I drink too much coffee. Perhaps I am feeding my fragile engine with the wrong fuel. Nah, it just needs something in addition to my beloved brew.

~ OR ~ I am just being lazy and all of this diatribical wordage is nothing more than me justifying my reluctance to do laundry. *diatribical – it is a word today. If the dictionary can now include hashtag, I can play with my words as I wish. Octothorpe, by the way, it is an octothorpe.

I’ve approximately two, possibly three more sips in my cup and am contemplating a second fix, oh, but that requires action on my part, it’s a worthy enough endeavor I suppose. Well worthy. I may make some tea in lieu of the java, sounds rather delightful actually. I was hoping my rambling would lead me and spur me forward in my quest for motivation, but thus far the most appealing thing I’ve come up with is sitting on the porch with my coffee, or tea, and losing myself completely between the pages of a book.

I may get dressed today, the probability of remaining in my pajamas is likely though, quite likely as a matter of fact since doing the wash has not yet made it to the top of my to-do list for the day. My cup is now emptied and a decision has to be made, I’m flipping a coin . . .

Crystal R. Cook

Don’t Forget the Cup

Aug19

What I needed

I’m having one of those rare yay me kind of days, at least I was. I got up early this morning, despite my lack of sleep due the absence of my husband’s snoring, which is odd since it usually keeps me awake. He’s out-of-state so the bed’s all mine. Well, mine and my dog shadow, Arabella. She doesn’t snore.

I set about cleaning and organizing and dusting. Stuff that makes you feel accomplished and worthy and less like the stay in your PJs, write all day, and let the dust fall where it may self you typically are. Maybe that’s just me though. So, I’m caught up on laundry, dishes are done, floors are swept, blah, blah, blah.

I was kicking cleaning ass and then, BAM! I ran head on into a wall of tired so hard it just about knocked me down. I needed coffee . . . quickly. I still had stuff to do so I set it to brew and hefted a load of towels to the closet. I could smell the coffee, it was divine. The aroma was strong, I could almost feel the energy it was dripping out for me.

I zombie walked my way to the kitchen, when I saw it, a wave of confusion washed over me, then realization. Realization that I’m a part-time ditz and full-time lost cause.

Cup Required

So now I know what happens when you don’t strategically place a receptacle beneath a streaming flow of hot, liquid life nectar. It’s sad.

I have to give a shout out to my beautifully decorative drying mat, talk about absorbency. What could have been a mess of disastrous proportion was reduced to a fairly quick clean-up.