My coffee pot broke yesterday. It had been shorting me on coffee delivery for awhile. I would press the lever and I would get half a cup instead of a whole cup. I took it as commentary. Unappreciated commentary about my coffee intake. Except that really there is no room for judgment, not even from my temperamental coffee delivery vehicle. I have one cup of DECAF a day...well and then I have another in the afternoon over ice. Again, DECAF!
Sometimes I am a little slow on the the uptake...even while drinking coffee I guess.
I was cleaning the kitchen up yesterday and noticed that my coffee pot was leaking water all over the counter. And I knew immediately that she was on her way to the giant dumpster in the sky...
And I was right. It was a sad moment. And I prayed for her and all coffee pots similarly situated and their despondent owners wherever they might be located. I will fully admit that I prayed for all of this as I carried her to the trash can. I am not very sentimental I guess, or I am losing my touch. Because as one who has buried every single poor little critter that all of my cats dragged home or pet that died, I felt no such compulsion for the coffee pot who loyally serviced me for years. I did really appreciate her though...she was a good old girl and I will miss her.
Except that only lasted about five minutes. Because, some of you will not find this strange or odd about me, I had another coffee pot in reserve that I called up into service immediately. I mean, who can exist without a coffee pot? And also, doesn’t everyone have a spare coffee pot lying around? I mean, this is the 21st century, not the dark ages.
So after my somewhat lip service ceremony complete with parade (ok, it was really just me walking the old pot to the trash receptacle and feeling sad, but I am calling it a parade anyway) I installed the new, non-leaky behemoth in the old one’s special place next to the sink.
I got her all cleaned up (she was in the attic after all). Programmed her so that she would be alert to the timing of the delivery of my coffee this morning and all was well. I have to admit that I did move about my day with an appropriate level of sadness about my other pot’s passing, and with a little fear about how my new pot would perform today.
The new one is fancier. She has a led screen and the like. My old one just had buttons that lit up blue and green to let me know she heard me. So I was a little wary about the new coffee pot regime that I helped install yesterday. Would there be a coup this morning resulting in no coffee being imbibed? Would I have water all over the counter, the legacy of the pot just passed? Or would I be delivered the best cup of coffee I had ever been granted access to? Who knew? There was a lot of uncertainty.
Ok, all of you already know that I am nuts. So this rant should only provide further confirmation, for those of you who do not know me well, this is your first intro...welcome to my crazy. Yes, this is how my mind works. Yes, run in another direction now. Quickly...
For those of you that remain, I am getting to my point...really.
If you live alone, and by that I mean without an adult partner. Living with teens is kind of like living with a poltergeist...they are late night apparitions that appear in your kitchen, mumble and moan, disappear things that you need or want, like chocolate, chips or ice cream, car keys or your favorite sweater, and then as quickly as they appeared, fade into the mist again. So this observation comes from the aloneness of my living with teen ghosts...
I swear to God there is a point here...
So living alone without an adult partner, you come to find solace and comfort in routine. Doing the same things in the same order every day...well maybe that is just me. But I do. I do the same things, every single Goddamn day in order and it provides me a feeling of comfort, safety and being cared about. And as stupid as this sounds, my coffee pot is part of my sacred morning ritual. And so a disruption to that routine is unsettling and disconcerting. Thus the whole death of my reliable old coffee pot yesterday was enough to spin me out despite the confidence I had in being savvy enough to have another coffee pot waiting in the wings (my house doesn’t actually have wings, it is a small wingless house, so my new recruit was waiting in the attic where all things that are not currently being used go...)
So there was no attendant crisis or mad rush to the store for a new coffee pot, I was prepared! But still, even with all that preparation, the newness of the nascent coffee second string was unsettling and created a little insecurity.
Ok, I promise here comes the point...
My coffee pot is part of my morning routine where I write and discover things about myself and then share them with anyone who will take the time to read them. This morning dialogue I have with first myself, then God, then all of you, wouldn’t be the same without good old coffee pot directly preceding the morning outpouring of words on screen. So without her, I would be lost. She is the thing I turn to when my words fail me, or I need a minute to reflect. She is more than just a coffee delivery vehicle, she is an integral part of my morning intimacy with myself.
Coffee suggests intimacy. Just the word. The noun. When you make it a verb, the intimacy gets heightened. Seriously. Think about what you think about when you agree to “coffee” with someone. It is a date, a job prospect, a friendly get together. Coffee and intimacy go hand in hand, or rather hand in mug. And me, I would not be the same without it. I would not be the person I am today, to write what I write or think what I think without the process of coffeeing or the actual drinking of said coffee. Nothing would be the same.
Like it or not, coffee is part of my intimate morning ritual with myself and I would fundamentally be someone else if it weren’t for coffee. So it is no understatement that yesterday’s coffee pot demise left me adrift and unsettled.
And I am sure that right now, there are many of you who are taking this blog as complete confirmation that I am totally, completely gone. Like rounded the last turn into crazy town and took up permanent residence. However, that is only partly true. I actually have lived in crazy town part time for most of my life. It is nice here, always something going on. And today, it is the writing of an ode to a coffee pot. And as some of you long standing fans will recall, this is not my first post about coffee and coffee pots...scary I know.
Finally, the point:
I have become accustomed to my intimacy with myself. Every day. My whole routine whether I am employed or unemployed, working or writing, taking teen aged ghosts to real lives planes back to school, feeding dogs and cats and goats, talking to my sponsor, a friend, myself. Coffee is part of that every single day of my life. A daily ritual that allows me to connect up with myself in a manner that I am sure would not be the same without it. Which leads me to my final conclusion: I love coffee. The smell, the taste, the process of making it. I love it so much that I am thinking that when this pot dies, I am going to go super old school and get a French press and make the whole morning routine deeper and even more intimate. I mean there is nothing more intimate than cursing your way through grinding beans, boiling water and then waiting for the magic elixir to steep into deliciousness.
But for now, today, while I am still working very hard at slowing down, I can see that I am not ready for that much intimacy. I am still in the “just give it to me now please, more one night stand kind of delivery of coffee in the morning”. Perhaps one day I will be willing to take the next step, where the coffee brewing becomes as important as the end result of drinking it. But that day is not today. Today I am grateful for my new recruit, my second string coffee pot that did an excellent job this morning, disappointing me not at all. Allowing my current morning routine to continue without a hitch, only a little neurotic angst over the process and the newness of getting to know a new pot.
Crisis averted, coffee deliver, blog written. Life is good. Intimacy is good. Routine is good. And right now, all feels right in my world.
Ok, the second dog just got up so I have to trek to the kitchen to let him out...and maybe I just might have a second cup to celebrate...
Caveat - this is my dream coffee pot...not the one that I actually have. I don't want dishonesty to crowd out any intimacy...
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