Eclectic Coffee Mugs

At seventy-two, I drink a hell of a lot of
coffee, sometimes in the middle of the
day when my energy sags and I just don’t
want to pick up the damn tool to continue the
great new adventure I’m into. It goes like this:
I wake early while gentle Sue sleeps

with a clear conscious next to me as
peaceful as a lamb, and my first thoughts
are of the smell and taste of coffee and without
even thinking about it, I lump out of bed, find the
slippers I wear on the wrong feet and get downstairs
to scoop the grounds into Mr. Coffee.

I often ponder which mug to use. They’re
mostly different like the years of my life, many
from Pier 1 Imports because Sue can’t pass up
something that clicks with her as both beautiful and
practical, and if the truth be known, there are few things
more beautiful and practical than a coffee mug.

If last night’s supper dishes are on the
counter, I’m not above scrubbing them up
because nothing’s worse than a bunch of dirty
dishes starring me in the face. A place for every-
thing and everything in it’s place some parent must
have whispered in small ears.

It’s not uncommon to sit in front of the
computer with my first mug and watch the
sun rise into the coastal sky and think about
things. It’s a sign of being alive, I have come to
believe. Drink the first coffee and think about being
as the day starts. It’s a prelude for the work.