I believe that the ultimate and most awesome moments in my life happen those early mornings that I wake up, snatch the blinds up, and view a sunrise hitting the horizon and wet grass outside. I think to myself, how blessed we all are that the sun came up today and not only that, but how beautiful this miracle is too. Once I step outside it is not blistering hot, but just refreshingly perfect. The sun does not scorch but warms the skin, and the grass is crisp with the morning dew. Birds are flying their worms back to their hungry hatchlings. This moment is amplified every morning by that amazing first sip of coffee. I just want to break out and sing, “The moment I wake up, before I put on my make-up. . . I pour myself a little coffee. While combing my hair now, and wondering what dress to wear now. . . I pour myself a little more.” What a great start to the day!
Coffee isn’t only the best part of every morning, the pure vast greatness of it can boost any part of my day. Nighttime especially excels in my life when accompanied by a warm cup of coffee, with hazelnut flavored cream and three teaspoons of sugar. Again a song, “Meet Virginia” by the artist Train can sum up my sentiments quite accurately, “She only drinks coffee at midnight, when the moment is not right. Timing is quiet, unusual.”
In my life, coffee represents the true elements of love. It expands for the love I have for my foolish brother with his excuses and means to not be the one to have to get up at the crack of dawn and brew our mom a pot. He actually pretends to be coffee incompetent. It’s true. Every time he is elected for the job he packs the basket full to the brim with fresh grounds. Now anyone that has ever made coffee in the privacy of their own kitchen knows that household coffeepots have quite a temperament. Many have probably fallen subject to the vicious fury of a coffeepot spurting hot, watery coffee grounds out its top with such force that it covers the countertop and soaks the kitchen floor. In pure spite that he was awoken so early from his slumber, my brother will do this every time he is asked to make coffee. By the time the coffeemaker explodes and unleashes its wrath, he’s already fast asleep. I love that jerk.
Now, more importantly, coffee can symbolize the unyielding love I have for my mother. How she can brew the perfect pot, but can ruin the cup she so loving pours for me just by adding the sugar before the milk. She truly is the cause of my coffee addiction and love affair. I will never forget nights my mom, brother, and I awake into all hours of the summer morning with candles all over the apartment and patio playing a never ending game of spades. My brother, naturally lax at a game of such skills, is cheating under the glass patio table with my sympathetic mother, “secretly” passing cards, trying to make the trick.
A warm cup of coffee to me is just that, love. A cup of coffee is late nights staying up with the best friend talking, bonding with my mother listening to Jack Johnson, or just a beautiful sunrise every morning. I celebrate my love for coffee. This I believe could be the link to true happiness.
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