Some time ago, I decided to base my well-being on things within reach. So, sunshine, rain, warm wind, delicate snow, soft cotton, a hot cup of tea, and my favorite colors are but a few. People can be difficult, so none of these things depend on people’s availability or generosity. All of them are things that I can have with minimum effort and there are options for different circumstances and climates. I’ve got a whole gang of them stashed away in my mind. A posse of positive possibility for all occasions. One or more of them is almost always on hand. To celebrate or to soothe, I’ll make my way to these things first to brighten my day.
One of my all-time favorites is a cup of coffee. Am I a simpleton? Yeah, probably, but I don’t mind. Even now, long after the event that sparked this inspiration, every time I get a cup of joe, I inhale deeply anticipating my first sip. I like many different forms of coffee. I adore espresso with its dark impossibly rich jolt of coffee-ness made palatable and viscous by a spoonful of sugar. I have a love affair with lattes, their creamy milky frothiness belying the deep richness of espresso shots lurking beneath. French press is a frequent favorite, oily, inky black-brown, and outstandingly, full of sediment invariably entrained in the flow into my cup. I also thoroughly enjoy good old drip coffee, preferably french roast or stronger, with rich dairy cream or subtly malty oat milk, even smooth unsweetened soymilk is a favorite, each milk imparting its unique companionable touch. Lately, I’ve added dried instant coffee to the repertoire, but instead of hot water, I mix it into hot milks, like hot chocolate, so it is rich and satisfying, and somewhat indulgent in its own way.
Hot beverages for me always force me to slow down so that I don’t burn my lips on the first piping hot sip. I have to physically stop myself as I like my coffee as hot as possible and don’t want to miss the moment. To this end, I have an absurdly large army of travel mugs that occupy one of my lower kitchen cabinets. Each one was acquired in the quest to capture my coffee at its hottest, then deliver the first swallow without singing my lips. The most successful mugs extend that first moment of searing contact, allowing me to delay it until conditions are ideal and then offering me repeated subsequent first sips, the next nearly as hot as the last until the end is reached.
I like cold coffee too. Silky and bold iced lattes with steamed almond milk can salvage an entire afternoon. Leftover French Press from the morning tucked away in the fridge topped up with milk and sugar for a later juncture. Coffee ice cream? Good grief, now we bring out the big guns. This delight is reserved for the most special of moments, particularly because I almost always drink decaffeinated coffee. Caffeine makes me shake and then later, I won’t sleep for far too many eyeball drying hours. It is never a good idea for me to ingest this powerful substance at high octane after 2 in the afternoon, so I stick to decaf. It’s no matter, decaf is all around us too. Now and again, though, after a long night or a fuzzy, potentially unproductive, unbearably sleepy morning, I opt for caffeine, and, wow, does it ever wake me up.
On those occasions when I am craving something sweet, a packet or two of raw sugar or a thick splash of maple syrup and it’s a dessert! Otherwise, if I want it untainted, just bitter enough to produce chest hair, I’ve justified adding sugar to something else (questionable reasoning, but hey).
So, there I am, coffee of some form in hand, paused mid-moment, pulling on that first sip and something in me feels just a little bit better, sometimes a lot better. Given a few more moments of time, I’ll ponder how awesome coffee is, how crazy intense the taste is, how humans of all ilks have been drinking coffee and vibrating together or alone in all corners of the world since ancient times. How they eventually decided (scientifically), long after we were all addicted, that coffee, in moderation, is indeed good for you. An unexpected bonus. Moderation, pah, 2 – 5 cups a day is more than moderation for me.
Though I do drink my coffee unnaturally fast and as hot as possible, I rarely sport for a second cup unless I’ve made a pot at home. In which case, I’ll surreptitiously serially murder multiple cups of java. Mostly though, those few minutes, as its rich complex flavors are entrancing my senses, I enjoy a deep pulse of pure pleasure. Joy in a cup of joe.
Coffee pulls memories of resilience and cleverness as I moved beyond one of the harshest lessons of my life. In those days, I held on to my gigantic daily mug of morning coffee as if it were a lifeboat, a lifeline to breath and air. I would sit and watch the world around me, keenly aware of those who had it worse and those who seemed to have it better. Placing myself amidships of humanity has always helped me to appreciate my striving and carry on. Ever since, coffee has marked brief imperceptible escapes from reality. Even though I’ve become a habitual coffee drinker, I’ve never lost the recognition of its power to tilt my universe a tiny bit each time.
Is there something like that for you?
