Every. Single. Night.

It happens Every. Single. Night.

After each jam-packed day, eyeing my four-poster bed that waits to welcome my familiar form, I enthusiastically climb in and exclaim:

"Oh, yay!" 

Feeling certain that my exuberance has something to do with him, my husband turns his attention towards me.

I smile, sheepishly, as I non-verbally confirm that the words I was merely thinking, somehow, catapulted out of my mouth.  Apparently, I just couldn't contain them!

By now, though, he understands that the joyful anticipation which burst through my lips is a reaction to knowing that, once my day is over, it is only a matter of time before I can be with "Joe"...

...my cup of joe, that is.

Why do I go to bed Every. Single. Night. looking forward to my morning coffee?  One thing of which I am certain is that caffeine has nothing to do with my affinity for the luscious liquid that begins my day.

In analyzing my long-held kinship with my morning-time (actually any-time!) "pick-me-up", my conclusion is this:  It is a multi-sensory experience, rooted in recollections, relaxation, and relationships.

The deep, rich aroma transports me back to my childhood bedroom on Sunday mornings.  Coffee percolating, the scent would waft through our house, stirring me awake - occasionally in time to accompany my father on his weekend bagel run to Three Brothers Bakery.

Though there was never any dialogue during these excursions, I felt special simply being alone in the car with my dad.  The silence, the calm, and the hum of the tires on the hot Texas pavement were, somehow, soothing, and - above all, encouraging.  Just me.  Just my dad.  And the hope that he would splurge on gingerbread men for my brother and me.

All of this from remembering the fragrance of percolating coffee that drifted gently throughout the first home that is permanently lodged in my memory. 

The solitude, silence, and serenity of early mornings - often before sunrise, my coffee within reach, along with my puzzle page and a brightly colored pen to breach the monochromatic monotony of the newspaper, are sensations strongly associated with each sip of the warm brew, declaring that my day is, now, officially underway.

Partnered much like Batman and Robin, Fred and Ginger, or Peanut butter and jelly, it's coffee and puzzle page for me!  Though I enjoy each of them separately, one without the other just isn't the same.  My own pre-dawn, combo-ritual simultaneously feeds my mind and my body.  I have come to appreciate, understand, and even necessitate these moments before bustling activity reins down. I say to myself:

"What a perfect and productive way to begin another day!"

And then....I am ready to face the world!

Then there's love.  A deep, respecting, almost reverential adoration anchored me to my maternal grandmother.   Like a movie reel on a continuous loop, I see her mug filled to just beneath overflowing with Nescafé, walking to our kitchen table - without relinquishing a single drop of coffee to our linoleum floor, setting it down on the table - once again, spill-free, then waiting until I had made my own and joined her.

There we would sit, talking about nothing, yet everything - with my wishing that one day, I might be as wise as she is.  We sipped our coffee and solved problems that seemed monumental at the time, but ones we might wish for in today's world, given the social, political, and economic climates that have blanketed our world like a heavy burlap cloak - uncomfortable, abrasive, and eager to shed.

She listened as I relayed the goings-on within my teenage realm.  I tuned in to her astuteness when it came to navigating life.  One of my favorite snippets of wisdom was:

"Sheri, Dear, never say that you'll do something tomorrow because you'll see that tomorrow never comes."

I didn't quite understand until I realized that she was gently cautioning me about the pitfalls of procrastination.  To this day, I can not "comfortably procrastinate" without thinking about my grandma and our "coffee talks", along with the depth of love I still have for her.

When anyone asks me, "Do you like coffee?", the short answer is yes.  The longer answer is that it has very little to do with flavor but rather, the "warm" memories evoked by it of the extraordinary people, places, and moments throughout my life.

How exceptional it is to think that childhood memories, cherished solitude, and still-vivid images of a woman I so loved and admired all result from one tiny bean....

....one tiny bean that inspires me to look forward to morning, Every. Single. Night.

© Cre8ive Writes, LLC  2023