The coffee is really good this morning.
I drink two large cups of coffee every morning. I don’t drink it for the caffeine, I drink it for the ritual and taste. We have had numerous coffee machines over the years. Some fancier than others, but what I believe is the most vital ingredient for any good cup of coffee, is freshly ground beans. We’ve had fancy grinders, too. But none of the high end machines have lasted long, so I switched back to a standard spice grinder and Mr. Coffee $19.99 coffee maker at some point last Spring.
I drink dark roast.
I have spent time with coffee connoisseurs who turn their nose up to dark roast, but that is what I like. I detest watery coffee. Bring me a dark brew, or bring me nothing. I want my coffee black, as is, with no milk, (or nut juice of any variety), no sugar, no cinnamon, etc., just the simple splendor of steaming liquid beans.
On most days our coffee is a notch above terrible.
I tend to use Trader Joe’s Dark roast, or Peet’s Major Dickinson’s blend, but at Spring Smash Camp last year, one of my angelic warrior roommates of Casita 15 brought a Starbucks blend that was absolute perfection. I was too out of it to write down the exact blend during those five days of extreme exercising last April, but I have been hunting for it ever since, and on Sunday morning I realized I might’ve found it. Starbuck’s French Roast - Dark.
Before tasting the coffee, while it was still percolating, I sensed it was going to be special, and deserved a special mug, so I reached for the most sentimental mug in my collection, the Kona mug. Since racing at Ironman Louisville, 2012, I have made it a tradition to buy a mug at every full Ironman I race. I still have mixed feelings about Kona, so I rarely use that mug, but since that Sunday was sizing up to be monumental, I had a twenty minute run on tap, I went for it. I chose the Louisville, 2012 mug for Marion.
I rarely prepare his coffee, because I never add enough milk. He demands a grotesque amount in my opinion, but since I was dancing on air, I took a chance, poured Almond milk and coffee into his mug, then pure coffee into mine, and whistled my way back to our bedroom.
“The coffee is really good this morning.” I mused after slurping my first sip.
I spent the next thirty minutes writing in my journal, ingesting a borderline unhealthy amount of social media, and read the delightful prose of America’s sweetheart, Tom Hanks. His collection of short stories in his book, Uncommon Type is fantastic. I felt giddy for the first morning in weeks. The coffee was stellar, I had a run to look forward to, and inspiring words to read.
“Will you grab me another cup?” I asked Marion as he started rising from our bed.
“Sure.” He replied as if I asked him to regrout our kitchen tile.
A few minutes later, he placed a white mug on my bedside table. My heart stopped. I couldn’t move. I just stared at the large, bold-type 2012 on the mug, aghast and disgusted.
“That’s not my mug!” I blurted out like a spoiled three year old. Then I looked up and saw him swallow a sip with a satisfied smile from the mug in his hand, the Kona mug.
“Wait? What do you mean? I didn’t pour milk in your’s?” He’s done that before.
“I had the Kona mug!”
“Just try it. Relax, it’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. It was awful.
The near perfect elixir that I tasted just minutes before was subdued by the residual nut juice still lining the inner walls of his mug. I couldn’t believe he was so inconsiderate? How could he not have noticed which mug was which? (They were both white, and similar size). How could he not realize how happy that particular cup of coffee made me that morning, and do everything in his power to maintain my light and easy mood? (It was coffee. We have it every morning). He felt terrible. I felt terrible. I knew it was a mistake, but I was livid.
I finished that second cup, but loathed every lick of it.
My sweet hub, Marion, drinking his Cafe au Almond Lait this morning.
Why was I so upset? Marion offered to make me another pot, poor guy, but that wasn’t the point, I wasn’t going to drink three cups of coffee? I’d be spinning out until 3P. I wasn’t mad at him, I knew I was blowing it way out of proportion, I was embarrassed of my behavior, and then it hit me, it felt like for the first time in weeks I did something right, and then it was ruined.
Later that morning I laced up my shoes and went for my aforementioned mini- run. My leg hurt a little versus a lot, which was an improvement from how it felt over the last month; not perfect, but better.
I felt better, too.
“I’m sorry about the coffee deal this morning.” I said after plopping down next to Marion on the couch.
“I can’t wait until you can really start running again.”
“Me, too.”
The song and video pick this week is a delightful tune from the artist, Finneas. Let’s Fall In Love For the Night.
*BONUS*
Following are links to a handful of other wonderful videos, articles and podcasts that I believe bring some positivity to our pandemic lifestyle:
SomeGood News with John Krasinski:
The Rich Roll Podcast - EP. 506
Work, Play, Love Podcast with Jesse Thomas and Lauren Fleshman