The First Cup

Transition to a Tuesday

I stumble to the kitchen this morning, still lost within the vague memories of the Alice-in-Wonderland dream. I am typically a sunny riser. Not today. The alarm woke me in the middle of a frightening dream.

Eyes half closed, I am grateful for my post-dinner routine of preparing for the morning. There is no water to filter nor beans to measure. With the push of a button, I am greeted with a whirr and that toasted-nut-scent of coffee beans being ground.

I lean against the counter, still slightly dazed as the intoxicating scent of the brewing hits my nose. My brain begins to stretch and yawn.

I wait.

I listen to the spewing and spitting and groaning of the coffee maker as it turns water into elixir. And then there is silence and a pregnant pause and then three sharp beep-beep-beeps.

My mind begs to be released from the fogginess. My body craves instant satisfaction. Every fiber of my being begs for me to rush this moment. We live in a world of instant gratification.

Haven’t we waited long enough?

I pause and close my eyes and breathe deeply. Instead of grabbing the hot pot of black gold, I clean.

I dump the warm coffee grounds into the trash and watch as the wet grounds cling to the traces of last night’s dinner. I rinse the filter basket and turn it over onto an orange and yellow striped tea towel. I rinse the grinder with warmer water as my mind begs me to hurry.

The busyness of the day ahead demands that I let the obsessive part of my nature have it’s moment to wash away the traces of the coffee maker’s work. When the pieces have cooled, it’s more challenging to clean away the oils and flecks of grind.

And now the ritual.

Though this whole process is a critical part of my morning routine, I long ago learned that when the important pieces of our routine become too rote, we lose our love or respect for the pleasures in our lives.

I never wish to become so numb to pleasure that I rush it.

I assemble the parts.

My favorite cup with the flowers. A tiny coffee spoon from the silverware drawer reminiscent of our trips to Europe. A white ceramic cream pitcher from the fridge. It’s matching sugar bowl from the cabinet.

Two spoons of sugar placed in the bottom of my cup. A gentle pour of the long-awaited brew to the tips of the interior flower. A healthy splash of milk. My morning chemistry experiment is complete.

And then the reward for my patience.

The first sip of elixir crosses my lips. The cobwebs clear my brain as my brew slides down my throat. It is ecstasy

The coffee spreads it’s magic. I can transition into my Tuesday.

The ritual is complete. I have celebrated and paid homage to the almighty bean.

This moment is colored with perfection.