I paused while pouring my morning coffee. I recognized the staple that it is in my morning routine. Five scoops of beans dropped into the coffee grinder where seconds later they become grounds that hot water will run through carrying with it caramel, cocoa and bitter flavors. As the last drop lands in the pot below my hand swiftly grabs the handle and pours the caffeinated wonderment into my cup, one or two teaspoons of raw sugar follow and a splash of milk are all met by a spoon that swirls it all together.
I enjoy the sounds of the beans being scooped out of the jar, the grinder doing its important work and the coffee findings its way into my cup.
There was a good deal of talk about about Yetis on Christmas Eve and this led me to changing my routine this morning. I don’t have a Yeti but I do have a Chantal commuter carafe that is the protector of all things hot or cold and in its metal sheath is virtually indestructible. After I poured my coffee into my ceramic cup, I poured the remainder of the pot into the Chantal. I felt good about this choice. I would no longer feel guilty about leaving half the pot behind in the morning. I placed the Chantal adjacent my backpack and continued to ready for work.
Now I’m on the train and I’m mourning my coffee. Did I leave it in the car? Did it slip out of the sleeve in my backpack? I don’t know. And even if it’s still hot when I return to my car early this evening, I can’t drink it. It will be way past my caffeine curfew.
Someday the best laid plans are spoiled. Today is one of them. Making the best of it, I think I’ll close my eyes for the last 20 minutes of this train ride and take advantage of the less caffeinated version of Karen Craven.