I love my Dad. I love my grandpa. I love my boyfriend.
These three men are all fathers. They are good fathers, and I enjoyed celebrating them yesterday. I appreciate the men in my life. We did not do anything extremely special. We did not host a huge bbq party or take a trip. We simply went to church, then a Chinese buffet for lunch, passed out cards and watched a movie. It was simple. It was memorable. I think that a lot of folks try to overdo certain “special” days, attempting to make up for the rest of the year. The truth is, in my family, we are pretty alright to each other most every day of the year. We spend a lot of time together. We talk a lot. We share laughter, and consider how blessed we all are to have each other. To be able to include my precious boyfriend in a family affair was wonderful. His son was there too, and it felt like I had brought my own immediate family to the mix. It is these simply things that I like to dwell on during “special” days.
Do you ever walk up with a jolt? Like, for instance, you go to bed a smidge after midnight thinking that you are going to sleep in till 11am-1pm for sure, but bolt up with a sudden angst in your belly at 7:45am. It feels like suddenly you are going to be majorly late for work at which you will have to explain to your boss that, “Oh my goodness, this NEVER happens. I am so very sorry. Don’t make me do clerical work. Pleeeaase.” But, then you have this overwhelming moment of peace as your brain catches up with your thoughts and reminds you that it is Sunday, and you groan and sigh in the same moment of relieved exhale. That happened to me this morning. Perhaps it’s a sign that I stress over work too much, but I can’t stress about it now. Instead, I rolled back over and slept till 9:30 which is glorious because it felt like the latest I could sleep in without waking up groggy. Do you know what I mean? Sometimes, because I like sleeping so much, I sleep TOO much and I don’t actually feel rested when I’ve had 12 or so hours of sleep. That seem anti-productive when it comes to the purpose of sleeping, so I push it to the last final minute where I can sanely understand that I need to wake up to feel rested for the day. Today, that number was 9:30.
No matter the amount of rest I do get, however, I drink a cup of morning coffee. Sometimes two. It’s no surprising fact to me when I hear that the world pretty much runs on Dunkin’. I mean, I’ve been enjoying a morning glass of joe since I was 14. Seems a bit young, sure, but nobody is going to take that pleasure away from me now. I have this entire routine down. I wake up, stumble to the bathroom and on the way there, I pass the coffee maker which is positioned ideally along the path to the john. I press the button to get it whirring, and by the time I have finished my shower and have my towel wrapped about my head, the coffee maker is done doing its thang and ready for me to build my perfect mug. So, I go to the cabinet and select my mug for the day. To understand this process of selection, you have to know that I am a mug collector. I have the most random collection of mugs that I have bought over the years. The majority are bright and colorful or funky shaped, but it boils to one simple rule for me when I am deciding on a mug purchase. Did it catch my attention as soon as I spotted it? If so, I go over to examine it and eventually fall in love before purchasing. If I don’t fall in love, I don’t get it but stand by its brothers and sisters to see if the secret gem among them is hiding then proceed to fall in love with it and purchase. Pretty simple. The only problem with this addiction is that it makes choosing my morning mug a dilemma. In the whole morning-coffee scenario, choosing my mug takes the largest amount of time. I have this notion that the mug I choose is what will represent my mood for the day. Do I want to feel round and bubbly? Do I feel tall and sleek with intricate details waiting to be visually enjoyed?
The coffee itself is another ritual. I don’t drink black coffee. And I rarely enjoy the Starbucks version of coffee. For me, coffee is that Folgers’ smell that overwhelms the house and the dark, almost chocolatey smooth consistency of the liquid as it pours into my cup where it swirls with the perfectly proportioned amount of sweet creamer and sugar till in transforms into a golden elixir of morning sunshine. Doesn’t that sound divine? Oh yeah, baby. It is, but coffee doesn’t have to be enjoy in the morning as you sit outside and watch hummingbirds drink from the feeders you have near the garden. Coffee is good any time of the day. I love to have a cup of decaf in the evenings after dinner. I order a slice of raspberry cheese cake and creamed decaf joe. There is a pleasure I can’t quite define after first taking a bite of cheesy, raspberry bliss to then follow it with a sip of golden elixir. Gives me shivers.