Oh, Coffee, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways (and apologize to poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who is probably rolling her eyes from beyond the grave as yet another writer tritely steals and mangles the opening line of her famous poem; now back to coffee)…
- I love your tantalizing perfume, how it permeates every corner of the cafe, the car, my house.
- I love your sensual warmth, how you tingle against my tongue and heat my winter-chilled hands.
- I love your dark and earthy color, how it reminds me of, well, you.
- I love your caffeine content, how it wakes me from my winter slumber and fills me with the most exquisite (and unfounded) sense of well-being.
- I love your flexibility, how you can delight in so many different ways: drip, espresso, French press, Greek, cafe au lait, cappuccino, tall almond milk vanilla latte, and so on.
- I love your robustly bitter taste—an acquired taste, to be sure, and one that is much improved, to my mind, by copious quantities of sugar and half and half or, mayhaps, whipped cream.
But dare I stop there? I dare not.
Coffee, you help me endure the day when insomnia (or jet lag) has been my bedfellow and help me survive the chill and dreary winter when it seems as though it might go on until the end of time. Coffee, you boost my mental clarity when deadlines loom and lift my mood when cruel, womanly hormones have brought me low. Whilst revving me up, you also make it strangely possible to slow down and enjoy life. Yes, I’ve savored you on many a coffee break over the years, shared you with co-workers and friends and family, though oftentimes t’was just you and me. Remember all of the good books we read? Remember all of the engaging conversations you were privy to? Remember the wondrous sights we witnessed together? Morning sun on the Parthenon, flowers blazing in a Parisian park, mist quilting a Cascade mountain lake. Coffee, you made everything so much brighter, more alive.
But, oh Coffee, if truth be told, you are at times such a cruel lover. Drink overmuch of you in your caffeinated form and my pulse races, my heart palpitates, my sleep suffers—and mind you, not in a good way. If deprived of you for too long (methinks notably of the time I rang in 2013 with a norovirus), my head pounds, my mood plummets, and extreme sleepiness ensues. And in my misery, I swear I’ll give you up or go decaf from this day forth.
But then the morrow arrives, so bright, so early.
And my love, we meet again.
So, what’s your relationship with coffee like?
Have a Happy Valentine’s Day!
Cherie (who has been reading, and watching, way too much Game of Thrones lately)