the new toy

preface:  this is not about cycling.  (well, only a little, and only at the end.)

prologue:  I hate making coffee.  measuring grounds, filling the reservoir, all of it.  hate it.  but I like drinking coffee. there you go.

chapter one:
2 years ago I visited my brother and his family in texas.  they had a keurig coffee machine, and I fell in love with it.  I popped a pod in, pushed a button, and voila, had a cup of coffee.  sigh.  bliss.  I decided then and there that when I hit my stride, had enough money coming in to feel secure and comfortable, I would treat myself and buy such a machine.  it would be an indulgence, a luxury, a goal to shoot for and one day reward myself with.

chapter two:
I got married.  john drinks regular coffee, and I drink primarily decaf.  for the first 3 months of our married life we had 2 coffee pots on the counter . . . his and hers, regular and decaf.  in planning a kitchen remodel we considered a built-in, cup-at-a-time coffee maker (that housed both regular and decaf beans) to eliminate those 2 cumbersome machines.  boy are those things expensive.

chapter three:
someone suggested we try a keurig.

chapter four:
we bought a keurig, some decaf pods and some regular pods.  john brewed the first cup, sipped, smiled, and sighed in contentment.  I brewed a cup of decaf, sipped, smiled, and sighed in contentment.
we no longer had to fill our coffee machines the night before, we no longer had to guess how much coffee we wanted to drink before we drank it, we no longer needed two separate machines in the morning.  we learned we could have a cup of fresh, hot coffee in about 30 seconds.  we glowed.

chapter five:
I am now a happy camper, with one small not-too-expensive, neat machine on my counter, a happily caffeinated John and a happily not-too-caffeinated me.  we and our keurig plan to live harmoniously for the rest of our days.  or at least until they invent a new coffee-making method that improves upon the one-cup-at-a-time keurig.

epilogue:
some toys are worth every penny you pay for them.  my bike and my keurig top that list.

lucky me

this is one of the things I love best about my early, early morning rides this time of year:
when I get home, I appreciate everything more.
things we usually consider "normal," things we often take for granted, things we forget to notice:

• coffee tastes heavenly


• heat is luxurious


• the hot shower tops the list of my favorite things ever


• dry, sweat-free clothes are sumptuous


• wheat toast with peanut butter tastes decadent


• my grumpy teenage daughters are gifts from God

I appreciate every single thing in my home because I have it to return to.
I've been part of the world as it's awakened, I've been freezing, I've worked my muscles and heart and lungs until they ached, I've been filled with and enveloped in crisp, clean air.

and then---lucky me---I get to return home.

coffee

I want to write about coffee this morning.
but to get there, I have to start with Atlas Shrugged, which I am currently re-reading. if you're not familiar with it, this book is Ayn Rand's 1168 page classic, a philosophical novel, or what I call a really really long fable.
the protagonist is Dagny Taggert, a beautiful, intelligent, driven, productive, capable, amazing woman. who smokes. seemingly constantly. she is forever lighting a cigarette, smoking one, having one lit for her, buying cigarettes, lighting one for someone else . . . now I know this novel was written over 60 years ago, but didn't they even have a clue back then that smoking was not the best thing for your health?
what I've decided is that Dagny was Ayn's semi-autobiographical creation, and that Ayn herself was a committed, determined, heavy duty smoker.
okay, that said, now I can turn to coffee.
I drink a lot of coffee every morning. and like the question I asked of myself last week about cycling: is it an addiction? or just a strong habit? and what does it say about me if it is an addiction?
was Dagny addicted to cigarettes, and if so, does that take away from the competent, capable, truly astounding woman she was? was Ayn Rand addicted to cigarettes, and if so, does that make her any less of a philosopher, writer, intellectual, and truly astounding woman that she was?
I love drinking my coffee. I make a small pot each morning, and it has become a very special routine for me. I take one of my favorite mugs, and pour into it an ounce or so of milk. then I warm this for 19 seconds (laugh all you want: I know my idiosyncrasies), and then add coffee and artificial sweetener (another no-no) until I have a mug full of sweet, hot, dark brown fluid that warms me up and makes me smile.
I usually end up zapping my mug in the mircrowave a few times before I fill up again, as I sip on my coffee for hours, in between writing and reading and working and making hot chocolate and lunches and driving kids to school and cleaning the kitchen and doing laundry and whatever else comes up each morning.
my coffee is a caf/decaf mix: 1 to 3 is my current ratio. for me it's not all about the caffeine, it's more about the ritual, the routine, the habit. so I try to just do a little caffeine and a lot not. but here's the thing: I don't really know how significantly I am hooked on this stuff. because I don't want to stop making and drinking my coffee.
could I give it up? I'm sure I could, if I had to.
will I give it up? not unless I absolutely have to.
about the only time I will forgo coffee is when there's neither milk nor artificial sweetner that I like. (I detest splenda, can tolerate equal, and definitely prefer the little pink packet kind.) my mother-in-law used to have a little bottle ~ like the kind you get prescriptions in from the pharmacy ~ with saccharin pills in it, these itsy bitsy teeny little white things that would dissolve in liquid. those are okay with me, but I always felt like some kind of a drug addict when I used one.
you know I am desperate for coffee when I drink it black with real sugar. ick.
you know I've completely lost my mind when I use cream. ugh.
(please pardon the break: I just returned to the computer after leaving for the kitchen to refill my mug of coffee.)
on mornings like this there is also something about holding that warm mug between my hands, feeling the heat through the smooth ceramic surface, knowing that the liquid inside will warm my body and give comfort to my soul. this small event contributes to my sense of well-being: to me it means warmth and security, comfort and luxury. no matter what the rest of my life holds, at the moment I sip from this mug I am safe, warm, happy, and have all of my needs met.
that is a pretty amazing gift from some water, some beans, a little milk, some saccharin, and a beautifully shaped piece of ceramic.
so, like Ayn Rand, I may have certain traits and habits that seem to belie the "I have it all together" posture I present to the world. or like Archilles and every other character in Greek mythology, I, too, have my tragic flaws. and I suppose if drinking my mugfuls of coffee each morning is on that list, I am happy to have it remain there because guess what?
I love my coffee ritual.
especially after a 23-mile early morning ride in the 40 degree dark.
mmm, mmm, aah.