This is my Wednesday post, an excerpt from my upcoming book, Coffee and Me.
Sunday morning, and the options flow through my mind.
My creative group meets today. Normally, we meet on the third Saturday of the month, but other commitments moved us to Sunday. Right in the middle of the Bears–Falcons game, but before church. I can work with that.
Considering the day's activities, should I walk over to 310 for a coffee and breakfast sandwich? Head down to the Cow's End for a pastry and coffee, then walk to the pier? Or make coffee at home, read my Bible, journal, and sit at my own desk?
After walking Bella, I sat on the couch and decided: this morning, coffee at home.
The coffee pot, specifically. I wanted refills.
I opened a new bag of Dunkin' Donuts Original Blend. I bought it last week at the grocery store because, at $7.99, it was the cheapest option. I had complained to my wife about the price.
"Jeez, what happened to a four-dollar bag of coffee? Do those even exist anymore?"
There are tiny bags at Dollar Tree for $1.50, but they look like they might make the equivalent of two K-Cups. I'll have to check the actual size before I stand behind that calculation.
The bag opened easily, which felt like a small victory. Usually, opening a bag of coffee involves my teeth and some frustration. This morning, no problem.
Then I reached into the pile of items on top of the refrigerator and came out with coffee filters on the first try.
Nice.
At least coffee filters are still something I can find for $1.50.
I poured the grounds into the filter and immediately criticized myself.
Shouldn't I be measuring this?
Then I ran water from the sink and poured it into the coffee maker.
Two potential coffee offenses before I had even pressed the button: tap water and unmeasured grounds.
Oh well. It's my coffee.
I pressed the button and helped my wife prepare the living area for Bella's arrival after her bath. Once she gets out, she likes to shake, roll on the couch, roll on the floor, and generally make sure the rest of the house participates.
While Bella was in the bath, I had another decision to make: the Slytherin mug or the fall Snoopy mug?
Snoopy won.
It's a nice mug to look at. And the sound of coffee pouring from the pot into the cup is soothing. For a moment, my problems feel far away. The things waiting for me on Monday can stay there a little longer.
One sip reminded me why coffee at home sometimes tastes better to me than anything I can buy at a shop.
Maybe some of my coffee-shop visits are performative. I go somewhere, spend money, settle into the atmosphere, people-watch, sit in the sunshine, and journal. There is a whole experience attached to the cup.
I enjoy that experience. But this morning, I enjoyed being home.
Drinking coffee is restorative for me, especially on the weekends. Weekends are a little like Christmas: you wish they would last longer. You know they won't, so you make an effort to savor them.
Of course, your problems can follow you into the cup.
The bills to pay. The work to do. The things you haven't figured out. They roll around in your head while you hold something warm in your hands. With each sip, you hope they might wash away for the day.
They usually don't. The bills are still bills, and Monday is still coming.
But I can sit at my own desk, drink coffee from my fall Snoopy mug, read, journal, and let the pot keep the next cup warm.
Hopefully, some of the energy I need for the coming week will return while I'm sitting here.
For now, I have coffee. And a little more Sunday.
Where does your coffee taste best?
Here, I made this. My gift to you, for taking the time to read.