Thanks to Susan Mark on Bindweed or Bluegrass for partially inspiring this post. Some people just can’t get going without their morning cup. My father, may he rest in peace, was one of them. Several years ago after my mother passed, he and I visited my brother and his family in Los Alamos, New Mexico. One morning, Dad was the first one up. After about fifteen minutes, he returned to the room we shared and said, “I can’t find the coffee. I’m going back to bed.”
My brother has taken after our father. Recently while he was visiting me for Dad’s celebration of life, he stumbled into my kitchen one morning butt naked and made a beeline for the coffee pot. My kitchen windows that overlook my driveway and the house next door aren’t shaded. My brother could have given my neighbors a show, but he didn’t care as long as he had his coffee.
My mother also needed coffee in the morning before she could do anything. After the obligatory cup or two and some dry cereal covered with milk which the cat lapped up after the cereal was gone, Mother showered, dressed, and spent a ridiculous amount of time on her make-up and hair. Even if she was just going to the grocery store, her appearance had to be flawless. She was obsessed with permanents and precision haircuts. Being visually impaired, I’ve never gone for fancy hairstyles because I couldn’t see well enough to keep them looking good.
Speaking of hair, I just had a piece published on another blog. I’ve mentioned Marilyn Smith here before. She wrote Chasing the Green Sun, a collection of poems and stories by herself and others for each month of the year. You can read my review of this book here.
Marilyn’s blog has more of the same and also includes recipes and book and music reviews. The piece of mine she posted here is, you could say, a history of my hair. May you always have coffee at your fingertips if you need it, and may you always be happy with your hair.