Tag Archives: coffee

monday items

Home from dropping the kid off at preschool
(where he triumphantly announced he had learned to ride a pedal bike
and everyone cheered)

I start the laundry
request vaccination records from the doctor for kindergarten registration
let the dogs in, out, and in again
wiping muddy footprints from the battered kitchen linoleum every time but the last
at which point I decide to stop caring
for a while

I am out of coffee filters so I rip a paper towel from the roll
and fold it into the warped yellow plastic cone
that my parents used to use on camping trips
grind beans
tap the fragments into the cone
and listen to the quiet hiss of the boiling water
soaking through

Email three professor friends to ask for news
on book tour dates

Email three contacts I made last Saturday,
after speaking at a Forum on Unintended Consequences of Energy Production
Follow up, Follow up.

Email two old friends.

Hang laundry
pet the dog
clear the breakfast dishes
dry out the laundry room floor,
flooded by the rain
which has been compensating lately,
for weeks of climate change induced sunshine

"I don't like the rain, but the plants do." Callum, aged 4.

“I don’t like the rain, but the plants do.” Callum, aged 4.


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Filed under basic goodness, Ordinary

Moment of Grace

Driving up the hill in the rain, I notice an older couple

emerging from their rundown house

he walks past the broke down cars

and opens a patio umbrella over a rickety table

she follows behind, carrying a tray

with an old fashioned coffee pot

and mugs

and then I have driven past

and I am left with only this

moment of grace

even people with very little money

like to sip hot things in the out of doors

and watch the world go by

while having a bit

of conversation

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2005 style

one morning in September, i walked from my brick shotgun 1 bedroom apartment (with the old school black and white tiled bathroom hung with blue lights), to the Straw Ibis coffeehouse, at that time the only independent coffeehouse in Logan, Utah.

When I walked up to the counter to order, the barista handed me a cappuccino and said someone had already paid.  I insisted they had mistaken me for someone else, but she maintained someone was expecting me.

I found him in the back room, smiling at me over his cup

having driven through the night to surprise me in the morning.

(without warning, mind you.)

: the sort of surprise that lets you feel the open space

around your throbbing heart

(exhilarating, terrifying gravity).

We walked to the farmers market, where we bought a loaf of bread

dizzy and drunk on each other, with the Wasatch Mountains leaning into the autumn sky overhead.  I dared to think i might live this way;

loved by someone who would drive 890 miles through the night

to surprise me for coffee

and who promised he would never

let me hide from myself.

It is seven years on now, and just now he surprised me again

2005 style.

We don’t touch this gravity quite so often anymore.

I head to work as he comes home, most days.  We are bleary eyed after my late nights waitressing, and 3 am wakeups with the babe, and his early mornings headed to work.  We are worried about money, and the car, and our old house.  We are behind on dishes, laundry, and yardwork.  There are days when we’re  not sure how we’ll pull it all off,

except for that we take turns being confident there’s a way

and every now and then

one of us remembers to take it back to 2005

and we are Right Here again,


teary eyed

and grateful enough

to go on for years.

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Filed under love