Everyone has their poison, and mine takes its form in a ceramic mug every morning. Here's my take on what my system goes through, every time I take a sip of this heavenly brew of strong coffee, made just the way I like it!
Caffeine is addictive and the process of falling victim to its charms is quick. Despite the good material out there on whether coffee is harmful or plain good for the soul, I choose to ignore and indulge. And though my real life is often lived between the coffee that gets refilled in my cup, it is the morning manna that I chose to write about, since this is what most fairy tales are made of ! -
As my alarm rings, the heartfelt notes that aim to awake, my mind groggily fills with hopes of a productive and early morning. Those countless posts on how to become a morning person
read themselves out to me in my head, as I turn over and hit the snooze, yet again. After some more efforts at the same process, which I have now come to accept as my effective 'morning routine', my mind does its usual practical reasoning of why I simply cannot afford to sleep in any more. The only saving grace is the hope that I will soon warm my hands around my cup of coffee. With that, I go through the rest of the motions on auto-pilot, until I reach my kitchen and the kettle.
The first part of the process is invariably the same, and done with no specific emotions. It is simply dumping two cups worth of water into the kettle, and leaving it to boil. For whatever reason, this, I consider as separate to the joy of making the perfect brew. Needs to be done, will get done, let it simply boil! While that happens, I begin the mindful process of picking out the two mugs my husband and I will drink in, for the day. We early on, fell into this quirky routine of picking the two mugs that go together, according to the ones that we bought together - irrespective of whether they form a set or not. So all I need to do is pick out the one, and the pair follows without any thought having to be applied to it. My measure of sugar into the cups don't vary much, though there are days I try to make a conscious effort to reduce by half a teaspoon for the sake of a healthier body. But this is mostly in vain, and has become more of a joke, due to our unending efforts to turn to a healthy lifestyle, with hardly any results. Next goes in, what constitutes all of my energy and discretion; measuring the coffee powder that needs to go into the cups. This is key for me, and I give this process a lot of respect. I like to believe that I have an inner calling every time, which helps me decide how much is too much, and I do this with great joy. On some days we use our french press, and the joy of the process intensifies. Once all of it is done, the water and the dash of milk added to my satisfaction to create the perfect aroma and colour, I walk to the sofa, head held high, while my husband runs ahead of me, to put out the coasters on our little wooden table. And that's the moment I feel the peace coursing through, in anticipation of the future bliss that will soon take over.
The first sip, is often like the first time of many an anticipated thing - too intense and with extraordinary expectations, that often lead to a let down. But the let down here is only because the first sip for me is always too hot to enjoy. Even if I let it cool a bit, the perfect temperature arrives only after you go through the process of the first few too-hot-for-my-tongue sips. And since that is the only way it works for me, I dutifully take those sips, after clinking cups with my husband, of course. There are many wonderful days when I hear words of praise flowing from his mouth, after his first sip, even though my tongue is too burnt to take it all in. And while I yet again wonder at that inner calling and its never-failing help, I am ready to enjoy the rest of the cup, which by now would have become just right in degree to sip away.
I love the aroma, the taste in my mouth as I take that sip, and become aware of what it does to me. It is a place of solitude, a place of quiet refreshment and internal peace. It is the place I want to be in always, when the going gets tough. As it hits my system, I feel my mind clear up, my thoughts getting sharper. And on some days, it even awakens the philosopher in me. The routine is often accompanied by the morning paper, on some days by the crossword, but the beauty of the moment lies simply in the cup of perfect. As more of it goes in, I appreciate to a greater degree, the way it feels, and makes me feel. It is almost as if the angels descend to surround me, for as long as there is coffee in my cup. As I get to half the mug, I can almost feel the rueful notes of 'oh, the glass is now half empty', but the optimist in me continues to enjoy the taste in my mouth as I take each gulp. When the amount of caffeine in the system rises, there is a simultaneous increase in the drive, the urge to get off the sofa; and yet there is also an overpowering sense of logical thinking going through my head, with reasons on why sitting put and taking more of it in, is the better idea.
All's well that ends well, though all good things must come to an end. And this is what I tell myself as the last few swirls alone remains in my mug, often forgotten till it becomes cold liquid. The last gulp signifies so many things to me - the fact that the tryst with heaven is over for the moment, that real life awaits for me to get started, and that I have imparted to my physical system, the best gift I could put in it. It makes me want to prolong the moment, not wanting to let go and accept reality. I know when I take that last bit in, that the real world will start banging on the door with its demands, that time will now move at the speed of light to spare me no breathing space, and that I stand now at the brink of beginning a day with so many possibilities. I then find myself offering a silent note of gratitude to this cup of peace, that helped me get till this point of time that fills me with hopes for the day. Moreover, gratitude for all the times it has lead me to accept situations with a strong heart. As I remember once telling my husband when we were in the worst of a certain circumstance, "Let's just get home, make some coffee and sit on the sofa. There's nothing which that can't solve, right?".
This is my tribute to everything good that the cup comes with; to the hopes it has seeded in us, to the people it has brought together, to the peace it has brought in times of tough solitude. Here's wishing all of you, good times and a brave mindset, that will stay as strong as my coffee can get!
Komen