Category: Coffee Lover

Merry and Bright

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I’m not a morning person. Never have been. Nonetheless, I respect the virtues of a beautiful morning. There’s something incredible about seeing the sun slip gently over the horizon and cast brilliant golden light onto the dark earth. It always overwhelms me with a sense of possibility. A new beginning set before us. A second chance. Hope.

You’d think someone with such a great appreciation of those fleeting morning hours would bounce out of bed each day with abandon, but sadly, that’s not the case. I’m somehow cursed to be both a night owl AND an early bird, staying up reading or tapping out stories on my computer until the deep hours of the night. Morning always arrives far too soon, and those glorious rays of sunshine offend my eyes and drive me to plunge ever more profoundly into my pillows, in a desperate quest for the last few moments of precious sleep.

Through the years, I have tried to change my schedule and make myself into a virtuous morning person. Morning people always seem to have it going on, don’t they? They thumb their noses at the night and gloat about their many achievements already completed by 9am, when those exhausted owls finally abandon hope of further sleep. I find that deeply annoying and yet, at heart, I must admit I do believe morning people are indeed more productive than night dwellers.

When I wrote my first book, I got up at 5:30 every morning and drank copious amounts of coffee until I completed the manuscript. It was the only way, as my nighttime mind was too often cluttered with the debris of the day to focus on the work. The shimmering silence of a new day provided me with a profusion of clarity. It was a gift, and I took advantage of those fragile hours at dawn until the deed was done, always taking time to peek out the window at sunrise to catch a glimpse of the new day’s glorious arrival.

But as soon as the final word of my tome was written, I bade goodbye to the early hours and fell back into my usual nocturnal routine. We, as humans, are intrinsically flawed, and this love of night and slothful sleep is perhaps my greatest weakness. Oh, for the New Year, I aspire to embracing the wee hours of the morning once more to raise my level of production in 2023! I will try. We all can dream.

On this fine morning of Christmas Eve 2022, my eyes flew open early, when the day was still quiet and golden. A small voice in my head whispered, “It’s Christmas!” and so it is. A smile drifted over my face, and I felt a twinge of childlike delight in my heart. Christmas. I love Christmas. Since my youth, it’s been a moment of magic and joy. I found it remarkable that every family around the world was touched by this elusive elf, clad in red velvet and snow. The excitement was almost overwhelming for little me.

That ethereal quality still lingers in my heart. Christmas! As a sensible adult, I understand that not everyone celebrates this holiday, but I get a quiet thrill from knowing that Christmas has transcended the constrains of the religious and is now considered a season of its own. The Season of Christmas! I love that. A season of joy, no matter your beliefs. The Christmas Spirit is available to one and all. It’s all about love and yours for the taking. How wonderful. And it starts today.

Honestly, as an adult and a parent, Christmas Eve is more about finishing up those last-minute chores for the big day – wrapping gifts, writing cards, preparing festive food, and driving kids to the shocking chaos of the mall for last-minute gifts. It’s hardly a day of rest and daydreams. And yet, when my eyes opened on this Christmas Eve morning, I was awash with the joy of the season. Love. Hope. Possibility. Magic. It’s all there.

I watched the sun cast her gilded rays over the mountains this morning and chase away the darkness of the rest of the year. That’s gone now. Christmas. I put on the soft strains of my favorite holiday music. Christmas. I whispered, “Thank you,” aloud to the day. I get to celebrate another Christmas with my loved ones. Amazing. Christmas. Life is the greatest gift of all, isn’t it? And I’m still here, after all this time. What a blessing.

Merry Christmas to you! May it be both merry and bright.

The Chipped Bowl

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In Western cultures, we tend to value perfection. When something breaks, we throw it away and buy a new one. Value is placed on that which is flawless. It is quite the opposite in the East. According to Wikipedia, the Japanese word, Kintsugi, refers to a broken item, such as a chipped porcelain bowl, which has been meticulously repaired with gold or silver thread, highlighting its imperfection, and in that way, celebrating the unique quality of the bowl. The chipped bowl becomes even more precious to the holder because of its flaw. I find that both lovely and remarkable.

We always look forward to the annual gathering of our families at the holidays. We idealize that time together and imagine it will be carefree and loving, like the warm and wonderful scenes in a Christmas movie, everything merry and bright. The reality is often not quite that. How did Thanksgiving go for you? What is it about a large meal with extended family that brings out the worst in people? It could be the combination of rich food, alcohol, and conflicting views on sports teams? Maybe.

All efforts to maintain civil behavior seem to fade into the bountiful slices of pumpkin pie and melt away with the vanilla ice cream. There’s always the family member (or two) who drinks too much and gets messy. In my family, the dinner conversation would somehow always turn to politics during dessert. Of course, no one agreed, and before long, fireworks seemed to explode over the table. We children would look at each other with something akin to terror. Please God. Not politics. But, there was no stopping it. Like clockwork, all the kids would rise and silently start clearing the table. Better to wash dishes than listen to grownups argue.

The adults never said a word to us, or maybe they didn’t even notice we’d left. When the table was finally clean, and the dishes were sparkling, it was time to go home. Goodbyes were sprinkled all around and hugs were exchanged as we hurried to our cars, clutching our boxes of tasty leftovers from the feast. Everyone breathed a unified sigh of relief as we drove away into the night. Thanksgiving dinner – check! Moving on.

Erma Bombeck once said, “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a little emotional scarring.” It’s the deep truth in the words that makes them funny. To her credit, the illustrious Ms. Bombeck also said, “There are friends, there is family, and then there are friends that become family.” I kind of love that. For me, it is my friends who make the world go round.

Families. Holidays. Arguments. Stress. People wax poetic on the importance of family, but sadly, family life too often is less than idyllic. Every year we send and receive holidays cards with photos of our families looking happy and successful. It’s easy to believe that these lovely families don’t have a worry in the world – indeed, once more, all merry and bright. But, the truth is hidden behind the smiles. Family can be precious and beautiful but also jealous and unkind. Your siblings are supposed to be your best friends but what if they are not? People move away from home and put thousands of miles between themselves and family for a reason. Just because someone is related to you doesn’t mean you like them. Or have anything in common with them. It makes sense that these annual gatherings are often fraught with tension.

The blood link is considered strong, but families that can actually live and play together peacefully through the years have a unique gift. It is the exception, rather than the rule. The rest of us must do the best we can. The modern world has created families through marriage, divorce, blended families, and adoption. Many of us have made our own families from a ragtag group of misfits who simply fit together – like missing puzzle pieces, reunited at last. The people in our lives should love us for our imperfections, not in spite of them. Like the beautiful, chipped bowl, repaired with golden thread. Kintsugi. Perfectly imperfect. During this holiday season, remember to be grateful for the people we call ‘family’ in our lives. Not the ones we are supposed to love, maybe, but the ones we do love. Like the chipped bowl. Perfect.

Happy Holidays to you and yours.

Homecoming

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As I assist my beautiful teenage daughters to get ready for their Homecoming dance – the dresses, the shoes, the hair, the makeup – I remember far too well my own Homecomings at my own high school many years ago. Home coming. Coming home. A rite of passage for Americans, as old and young, we gather back at our childhood schools and reminisce. I was so very young, as are they. So very young, indeed, yet trying on womanhood for size and seeing how it feels. Watching these young ladies, my daughters, slightly gawky, slightly insecure, terribly beautiful, and now very tall, stepping out all dressed up makes me feel proud, yet wistful. I can’t help but wonder where the little children who populated the last two decades of my life have gone.

A child is someone who passes through your life and disappears into an adult. We watch it happen and cannot believe it is so. Sometimes I feel sad and miss the funny little souls that they were. Even slightly panicked, as though I’d misplaced those children somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention. Look away and you’ve missed their childhood. When you’re in the thick of it, the days feel long, and it feels as though life will always be like this. The routine will never vary. You’re in it for life. They will be young forever. But that’s just a mirage in the mind of a sleep-deprived mother. Because they do grow up whether you are a dutiful mom or not. There’s not stopping the swift passage of time.

As we roll forward into thoughts of college and the next step in the lives of my kids, I miss the mommy that I was and the simple life we had – playing at the park, eating ice cream, napping, taking long walks with the double stroller, somehow managing to get them both back into their car seats, folding up all 40 pounds of that stroller, and tossing it into the back of the faithful minivan. Spending time learning and laughing together.

I fondly remember nighttime prayers and endless choruses of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” That particular song was slow and gentle and soothed them into a deep sleep. I only remembered a few verses but would sing them over and over again until either they fell asleep, or I did. I wondered if the lyrics might scare them but of course they heard the song the way a child might, in words that make sense to them. “Swing Low, Sweet Cherry Eyes…” “Cherry Eyes.” That’s what my daughter thought I was saying. No rhyme or reason needed. So funny and dear. It was simply the soothing quality of my voice that they craved at the end of the day.

 A year and a half away from high school graduation, and I am feeling grateful for the times we had. That I succeeded in raising them alone though I had no idea what I was doing. Never did find an effective handbook with all the Motherhood How-To’s. Grateful that their addict father didn’t damage them irreparably along the way. I was always there to pick up the pieces and be the responsible parent they needed. Grateful that they love me and that we all love each other as they’ve grown up. A lot of families are not so fortunate. Grateful every time I hear them say, “I love you, Mom,” even as they are running out the door. Grateful that I represent safety to them. Grateful for the dear children I thought I would never have.

I still don’t know how to do this motherhood thing and have surely made thousands of mistakes. But I am still here, and I have my daughters’ hands gripped in my own. One child for each hand. And as such, we will travel through the rest of my days until they take the lead and I fade into beloved memory, many years from now. Though we live in a society that fears old age, I welcome each day and every day I can spend with these two souls. My daughters. As they travel through life, I am their guide. How did all this happen? Who knows? Life is ever mysterious and beautiful.

Coffee, Oh Coffee….

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I’m a coffee drinker. I love it. I really do. I love everything about it, from the warm, dark color of the beans, to the incredible fragrance of the brew, to the smooth, warming taste. The smell of coffee percolating makes me smile and feel relaxed. It’s the scent of home and comfort. I suppose that’s why coffee shops are so popular. They become homes away from home, all because of the magic of coffee. Coffee has saved me so many times as a parent when I needed that little pick-me-up to keep me going so I could stay present for my kids. It’s not an overstatement to say coffee really is a lifesaver in my world.

So then, why do people love to hate on coffee? They suggest other “healthier alternatives” to coffee, and often state with pride that they “don’t drink coffee” like it’s a badge of honor. Hmmm. But why is coffee bad? And I’m talking coffee – pure coffee – not soda or Red Bull or those questionable caffeine-infused energy drinks. Coffee, pure and simple. The beans come from the earth. They are not man-made. We filter clean, fresh water through those beans and come up with the most beautiful, aromatic beverage that naturally energizes us, and is absolutely delicious in all its many forms – classic drip, espresso, cappuccino, latte, iced, and the list goes on.

I suppose if you drank 10 cups a day, that might not be a healthy choice. But moderation in everything is wise, right? And while coffee energizes the body and makes you feel sparky and good with a clear mind, it never clouds your thoughts and makes you do stupid things like say, alcohol or a multitude of recreational drugs. Coffee is a one-hit wonder. No side effects to worry about. And doctors say a few cups a day may actually help to stave off dementia. That’s a good thing, right? And in general, coffee gives you a feeling of joy (that aroma!) and well-being, and it is 100% legal and inexpensive.

So the next time someone tries to coffee-shame you, just remember my words. Coffee is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.