Disney World coffee cup
NOSO and Misha’s
My sleep was sound. Trident programmed strict and push presses last night, and my body was duly exhausted. Boomer woke me up in her regular manner, her enthusiastic kisses nearly suffocating me in what can only mean “love you good morning wake up it’s time to feed me let’s go mom I’m hungry love you good morning wake up it’s time to feed me…” I readied myself at my rushed-but-never-ever-quick-enough pace and as I pulled the door to enter into the day, my heart sunk. I had no coffee at work, and none ground at home. What’s a girl to do? Innovate! So, Mr. Hario takes a field trip.
Tada! Welcome to my desk, little skerton. As usual, the coffee mill exhausts my shoulders before I grind even half the beans it accommodates. I attempt a steady production rate by periodically switching my right and left hands from securing to grinding. Often I mutter in frustration; I am decidedly ambisinister and my left hand can hardly turn the lever arm. But eventually the sweat and tears produce the fine aromatic grounds that transform plain water to a magical elixer as good as sunshine.
My love for coffee was born at Oxford. Its bitterness somehow dulled my distress toward Topology and Astronomy. Its warmth was my companion on cold walks back to the college from mornings spent rowing on the Isis. Its strength kept me from loneliness as I strolled the shelves of Blackwell’s. Its depth spoke to my reflections as I lost myself amongst the paths of University Parks. Its presence was so constant, so defining, that in my last week before returning home I spent a day traveling to each coffeehouse within walking distance, spending a few moments to enjoy an espresso or americano or cappuccino. It was a lovely excursion, though I had reason to believe it would be my last. I returned home and lay atop my bed, heart pounding erratically. I notified dear Matt of my condition in case I should require emergency vehicle, then monitored my acrobatic pulse until dawn came again. I adore adventures.
More often than not I remember to grind my coffee and take it with me to work. But my mind is not fond of remembering things (at least it cannot handle remembering many things) and I bring the coffee but no cup hold it. I adore a good mug, and am therefore extremely particular about the ones I use. Last year on a whirlwind tour to the official “Happiest Place on Earth,” I hunted for a present for Aby in Epcot Center’s Japan. I found a turtle mug that elicited grin as wide as my cheeks would allow.
Sadly, I did not buy it. I didn’t think it was “cool” enough for Aby. That was the worst part of the trip. But here, in pictures, are the good parts:
Perhaps a habit carried over from my days at Oxford, I can maximize my production and quality of work only in cafés. My gratitude goes to NorthSide Social and Misha’s for producing coffee of excellent caliber and maintaining atmospheres of bustle and friendship. Visit them and stay a while; perhaps we’ll exchange a smile.
Notes from yesterday:
1. I lack the core strength necessary to pull my ribs to my back while pressing overhead, even at 55 pounds; work at this diligently
2. Squat like Diane Fu
3. Recognize the difference between weight that is challenging and weight that is too heavy right now
And so it is time to return to the here and the now, until tonight when I fly to my Neverland.
by Rudyard Kipling
Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o’er the combers, looks downward to find us
At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow;
Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,
Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.
Then the day will greet me as ever, with boomer’s kisses and the promise of coffee from precious grounds.