*Because of family obligations, I’m unable to give you new content this week. But fear not! I have lots of content that nobody except for my mother (Hi Mom!) has ever seen, because nobody was reading my blog yet when it was published. So here’s a re-post from back in March. Enjoy!*
Coffee is a beverage that puts one to sleep when not drank. ~ Alphonse Allais
Normally, for my second post of the week, I would be writing about baby food. I mean, that’s one of the reasons I started this blog, right? Because feeding the baby is the hot thing to do in this house. It’s what we do for fun, because we are old and lame.
Today, though, I thought I’d share some of my thoughts on a topic very dear to my heart, and one with which I suspect that even people who don’t have kids (and therefore are, let’s face it, probably not reading this blog) can relate to.
Yes, it is a type of food. It is consumable. And you could even say that it’s baby food, since I’m still nursing and I drink lots of it (I know, I know — Bad Mommy!) But when I talk about how I feed myself and my tiny boy, I don’t generally include coffee in the discussion. Is it because it isn’t a solid? Is it because I have convinced myself that, in spite of flavored creamers, it doesn’t contribute to my calorie intake? Maybe.
I think, though, that more likely the reason is that I think of coffee as being something special. Something that makes me able to face my life in a way that your average turkey sandwich really, really can’t. Something that doesn’t just fulfill a basic physical need, but adds greatly to my emotional and spiritual well-being.
So, in honor of coffee’s specialness, and to express my very real feelings for this marvelous beverage, I have penned a bit of a sonnet*:
It is my will, thy energy keep open
My heavy eyelids to the dawning light;
I do desire my lethargy be broken,
While childish cries of “Wake!” define my plight.
Is it thy spirit I absorb from thee
Through swallow’d warmth and steam that clears my eye,
To chase unwanted languor out of me,
And better make this house less of a sty?
Ah, yes! my love, though much, is not so great
That it alone may keep mine eye awake:
The coffee hot doth help my rest to wait,
To dance and play and wash and even bake:
A better mom this morning drug makes me;
I think my blood is mostly now coffee.
There is, of course, a dark side to all this. Caffeine is a drug, and I suspect that I might be a junkie. I can’t seem to function without it, and the one time that I tried to go a week with no caffeine at all was five long days of unrelenting headaches and absolutely no clean laundry (notice how I went for a week but only lasted five days). Fortunately, I live in a world full of fellow junkies who cheerfully encourage my addiction by bringing coffee to rehearsals, serving it with both breakfast and dessert, and looking at me like I just sprouted a third ear in the middle of my forehead when I say that I think I should cut back (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE).
Here’s a link to Wikipedia’s discussion about coffee. The health effects section really just makes me think I should be drinking even more of it. If you don’t have the time to read the article, I’ll leave you with my favorite bit: “The Oromo people would customarily plant a coffee tree on the graves of powerful sorcerers. They believed that the first coffee bush sprang up from the tears that the god of heaven shed over the corpse of a dead sorcerer.”
*Based on Shakespeare’s 61st Sonnet. Poor guy must be rolling in his grave.