Coffee

My mother loved coffee. She drank at least a half a pot, with vanilla hazelnut creamer, before she even went to work. On the weekends she probably put away a whole pot before 11 am. She never drank it all day though, or at night. Just in the morning.

One of my favorite things about going to visit my mother, or her coming to stay with me, was that there was always coffee waiting for me when I got up in the morning. If she had drank it all (because lets face it, I like to sleep in), then she would put on a fresh pot. We would sit on my balcony or if at her house her bedroom, drink coffee sometimes for hours while we discussed what we would do that day, and what we would cook later. Many times there were mimosas, but that is another post. There was always laughter, advice, annoyance at times and lots of love.

Being pregnant I have had to cut back on my love of coffee unfortunately. This morning through, raw from my intro post last night, I made a half a pot of coffee. I added a generous splash of Italian cream creamer (my fav), sat on my balcony, looked out at the water and allowed myself to remember and let the memories wash over me. A neighbor below was on his balcony too. He lit up a cigarette, which would have normally annoyed me to no end. Today I inhaled the scent and knew that while my mother wasn't there in body, she was none the less sitting right next to me.