Apparently life is not waiting for me to catch up. It’s time to put an end to my little pity party, round up the soggy wads of kleenex, wipe the mascara from under my eyes and move on.
Ever since the kids could walk, I’ve asked them to get a kleenex when they see someone is hurt or crying. It’s not because I wanted them to wait on me, but handing someone a kleenex when they are crying is a great way to show you care when you don’t know what the hell to say. It’s better than standing there waiting for the sobbing person to tell you, “Could you get me a kleenex, already.”
Tuesday night, Will wised up and brought me the whole box.
There’s too much to do, too much to plan, and too much to anticipate to spend any more time licking my wounds.
Enough is enough.
__________
I can hear Will grinding coffee as I write this. We got a new shipment of fresh coffee beans yesterday. The whole house smells fantastic.
Some people like the sound of birds chirping, some like the sound of laughter coming from a group of happy children, some like the sound of Eva Cassidy’s incredible voice. I like all those things, but for real comfort, I like the sound of fresh coffee beans grinding.
Will has learned how to make an excellent cup of coffee. If I let him have a cup, he’ll make me one, too.
You have to pick your battles.
__________
A zillion years ago I worked at a little coffee shop and learned how to layer lattes and roast beans. That was where I learned to be a coffee snob.
It’s easy to burn beans. There’s a fine line that you want to get close to, but if you aren’t careful, you can scorch the beans and then you’re toast. (That reminds me of the precariousness of relationships.)
I’m picky about the mug, the grind, the roast, and the process, but it is worth it.
I grew up Catholic. I love ritual even if I don’t love church.
I slice my own bread.
I use a waiter-style corkscrew to first peel the foil, and then unscrew the cork.
I’m fussy about how long to steep a tea bag and the temp of the water.
I’m particularly fussy about how I make a cup of coffee. My process is laborious, messy, slow and inefficient. However, this method produces a damn good cup of coffee.
- Grind fresh beans. Don’t roll your eyes, or think you can skip the grinding step. It does make a difference.
- Stop grinding a second before you think they are done.
- Set a plastic Melitta filter on top of your mug. (This only makes one cup at a time, but since it looks like I’m going to be single for the rest of my life, that’s not an issue for me.)
- Insert a #2 Melitta filter. (Or use a little handled colander and a regular drip coffee maker filter and stand at the ready with a hand-full of paper towels to sop up the mess.)
- Put in three scoops (about 3 heaping tablespoons) of fresh grounds.
- Pour boiling water over the fresh (notice I’m big on fresh) grounds.
If your grind is right, you won’t need cream.
Grind the beans finer if you like a shot of half and half. Personally, I’m taking a break from the half and half, because I don’t want a muffin top to go with my coffee.
__________
All this hard work and training is beginning to pay off. Now when Will hands me a kleenex, I know a fresh cup of coffee is sure to follow.
Tags: all about me, divorce, humor, life, love, narcissistic behavior, NPD, proactive, survive
Raspberry tarts!! Oh I love raspberries! The beautiful color, the roundness, the taste…just the general cuteness of them. I have several wild raspberry bushes on my land, and I just love it when early July comes and I can go out and pick ’em.
The tart lady may need that recipe to feel special. We all need to feel that way. But since I am a foodie, it grieves me to think of the hundreds of thousands of recipes that will never be made again once their current owner passes. Her name could be on a recipe in a recipe book for all eternity, if only she would share.
Y’all are going on a cruise?? Hot diggety dog! I can’t wait to hear about that!
Thank you for sharing your recipe for coffee.
If I told you that I drink day old coffee that I have refrigerated cuz I didn’t finish the pot the day before, I don’t think you would want to be my friend any longer.
Dearest Donna,
It’s too much to expect me to get over him; and get used to you drinking day old coffee, all in the same week. One hurdle at a time. Please.
Dear Jesse I am so sad that your relationship with your new friend may not ( or probably will not ) work out. Life is so dang hard. And even though I don’t really know you — you are my friend — and I care if you are feeling any pain or loss. I am sure that all of us who read your blog consider you a friend and almost like a sister. I really don’t like coffee ( I wish I did !) but I do like you enormously. Keep on keeping on. Of course we KNOW that you will never give up. You will just put another log on the fire, dance to some great music, hug those precious kids, and SMILE ( Even if through the tears ). We love you and we care.
Dear Phyllis,
I was right about this being my lifeboat. Thank you for such kind words. I have this fun thought running through my head. It goes something like this …. one of these days, it would be wonderful if we could all meet somewhere. We would talk into the wee hours, share stories, laughs and tears. We would feel the strength of a community of survivors. And, Phyllis, I wouldn’t expect you to drink any coffee. Deal?
Love,
Jesse
You are so darn cute. Hey I know — maybe you should consolidate all your blogs, send them to a publisher, and publish a book. I would definitely buy it! It would probably be a best seller and then you could be rich. Although I get the feeling that you are doing all this beautiful writing for love, not for money. But in a way you ARE rich already, because you are so loved and appreciated. Never give up, and we won’t either.
Phyllis,
too funny… I just turned on my computer to send you a personal email, and there was this new comment from you. Well, to be honest, and very sappy, I was rich before writing the blog. (Alas, not in money. :)) But I’m definitely richer now because of the new dear friends I’ve made. So do you like tea?