I fell in love with coffee just after I got married, the blissful haze of wedded bliss leading me to try all kinds of new things I had never ventured to try before. She drank coffee in starts and stops, but I had been content to live vicariously for at least a year, drinking various other hot drinks while she drank heaven. Until we tied the knot, and then it was on.
And there are so many different types out there too. Before then I thought there was but one, like the one ring forged in the fires of Mt. Doom. It was “coffee,” like “eggs,” or “deer,” or “pajamas.” But that’s not the case at all, I realized once I decided to just go for it instead of simply dipping my toes in the wading pool. So I dove in headfirst, into the Olympic-sized swimming pool of coffee, the various flavors and shades, the textures and densities, the sizes and the culture.
Now I can tell a Colombian bean from one grown in Antigua (in the taste), and I have sampled such flavors as Autumn Spice, Pumpkin Latte, and Green Apple. Green Mountain, and Dunkin Donuts, and Starbucks, and various other big names began fighting for space in my refrigerator, right after I got married, and in my cabinet, and in my coffee mug as well. And I don’t have just one either. I have three distinctly different mugs that are specifically for my coffee. I know. You’re jealous.
My favorite coffee mug is Winnie the Pooh, circa 2001. He’s a little faded over the years but he always was super-sized. And while he doesn’t fit well under my Keurig, he is just right for filling to the brim with any tasty coffee concoction I have come up with over the years. In fact, he has well-worn rings inside of his mug at the bottom, testament to the different levels of coffee that have graced his magnificence throughout his time as my primary coffee contrivance.
But it doesn’t keep me up, drinking all this coffee like it’s going out of style. Perhaps it helps me stay more alert, but I don’t notice at the time, in the moment. Maybe it makes me hyper-perceptive. I know I tend to write more poetry when I’m drinking coffee, but it might just be my belief that the bohemian lifestyle combines coffee drinking with better creativity. Of course I’m probably just deluding myself, but if that delusion leads to poetry, that’s good with me.
Now that I’ve admitted to loving coffee, I find deals on it all the time, too. It’s how I try all these different flavors. I hardly ever get ready-made brew from those coffee place either. I just make it in the comfort of my own home, either grinding up my own beans or getting them pre-ground. That way I can measure out the milk and sugar to go along with it, and I have it all down to a science at this point.
It’s the gift that just keeps on giving, and it won’t ditch you like a person would. What’s not to love?