Sunday, May 26, 2013

Cup of Hope (Make Room)

On this long holiday weekend I find myself awake too early again, before my alarm, before the sun. I'm not unhappy to be awake but I was hoping for a little more freedom from the lists of things marching around in my head.

So I get out of bed.

Not a tiny bit sleepy I go directly to make coffee more out of habit and taste than need.

The K-Cup machine that I rely on waits patiently in its prime corner counter spot.  I turn it on and when the light blinks I put a K-cup in and hit start.

While the coffee brewed I put cups from the sink into the dishwasher and wiped the counter down. Then I peeked into my coffee cup to see if it was done and and it was empty.

I shake my head. Melissa, you're getting old. I wonder if I'd put a K-cup in, if I'd hit start and try hard to remember these autopilot moments.

 No, no I'm not getting old, I'm sure I made my coffee, I think and half-believe myself.

Just in case, I toss the K-Cup, turn the machine on-off and make another cup.

While the machine brews I move things here and there like a puzzle to make room in the dishwasher for two more things and then it's full so I turn it on.

The K-cup machine is still gurgling and brewing so I spray bleachy cleanser around and wipe the kitchen sink and then peek in the coffee cup.

It's empty.

This time I know I'm not crazy.

 I have to have my coffee.

So I try it again and superstitiously pour out all the water and replace it with new water. I turn it on and off and now only one of its usual three buttons light up.  Ohh, it looks sad. I unplug it and wipe it down, then pull it close to me and hug it only thinking for a second that its a good thing the kids are asleep and not here to heckle me.

 Then go for Plan B and hunt my stovetop Cuban coffee maker. Where is it? In the pantry? on the counter? Oh, down there by the blender. It looks rested and ready for action.  I fill it with water, add the middle part and spoon three heaps of Cafe Bustello in there and twist the top part on.

While the Cuban coffee simmers on stove I wipe down the table and pick a few things off the floor, then empty the trash can. The coffee still isn't ready so I look for something else to clean, like I've found my new favorite minute-to-win-it game.

Nothing.  The kitchen is clean, I win, so I supervise the boiling roiling coffee and when the bubbling stops I pour the thick Cuban coffee into a regular sized coffee mug and add a bunch of half and half to compensate.

It's good, but it needs sugar, so I pour a little in, taste it, then pour more. It's really good but no way can I drink a mug of this.

But while I'm standing there by the sugar I can't help myself and plug the K-cup maker back in.

Again it lights up with only one of the three lights working.

Again I pet it, hug it, give it a little pep talk and then push the only button that was lit.

The machine spurts a little and then, miraculously, coffee spews out right where its supposed to spew out from.

But the coffee cup, instead of waiting hopefully for THAT coffee, was in my hand, full of a bitter cup of thick coffee.

 I remember once hearing you have to make ROOM for blessings and for things you hope for, and I failed this cardinal rule.

So quick, quick, quick, I dumped my cup of Cuban coffee down the drain and filled it with the coffee I'd been waiting for.

After that, I was ready for whatever comes next.