He was my cream, and I was his coffee -
And when you poured us together,
it was something.
I tend to have many rituals in my daily life. Call it obsessive compulsive, or perhaps I'm just a creature of habit, but I cling to little routines as if they're liturgy.
My favorite morning ritual requires coffee. I savor that moment, just after waking, when I add dark, aromatic French roast beans to the Cuisinart machine and listen to the burr grinder preparing my coffee.
I sit in my p.j.s and catch up on all of the e-mails that have come in overnight as I sip the freshly-brewed elixir. My students tend to be most active online between midnight and 4am, like studious little hamsters. I respond to their many nocturnal requests when I first awake. Having a creamy cup of joe by my side makes the daily grind of work enjoyable.
Though I didn't begin to enjoy coffee until my mid-twenties, now, it is one of the greatest pleasures of my day. Opening my glass jar of beans and catching that first whiff of roasted goodness helps me transition from slumber with joy and anticipation. For the only thing better than the taste of coffee is its distinctively enticing scent.
To complete the coffee ritual, I have a hierarchy of mugs. For weeks at a time, I use only one mug: maybe the heavy diner-style mug from Yosemite or my gigantic mug from my alma mater. These days I prefer a mug with capricious Eiffel towers all along the sides. A good mug makes the coffee taste that much better.
Bottoms up, coffee-lovers! May you have a highly caffeinated morning.
50 minutes ago