Tag Archive | morning coffee

A Token of His Love

 

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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 . . .

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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.

Mornings are hard . . .

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. . . 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 . . .

imageWhen 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.

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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 Morning cupmakes 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.