Tag Archives: coffee

I Sipped From My Cup of Coffee…

I sipped from my cup of coffee. It was Monday morning. I was sitting at my office desk. I put the cup back down and looked at it. The cup took up a nice spot just off to the side of my monitor. Easy enough to reach.
Easy enough. It was never quite right though. It was either too hot, too cold, too empty, too full, too bitter, too much cream. There was always something I could complain about. Maybe that’s what the problem was. I was looking for something to complain about.

Regardless of that, the one thing that that cup of coffee represented was a Continue reading I Sipped From My Cup of Coffee…

Coffee Ice Cream…

Every time. Every.. single.. time…

It doesn’t matter that I have done this for over 30 years. It doesn’t matter that I do it with each cup that I eat. It doesn’t matter that this is something so ingrained in my make up that I would not be surprised to find out that I have altered my DNA markers and transferred this to my children (albeit, neither of them exhibit this trait, so I’m thinking it might be recessive in nature).

But, every time I Continue reading Coffee Ice Cream…

A Conversation Over Coffee

“I tried to forgive them. After all, isn’t that what we are suppose to do? Love our enemies, forgive as we want to be forgiven? The good book says that, right? You know what it doesn’t say?” He asked as he took a sip from his cup of coffee. I looked at him and just shook my head.

“How difficult that it’s going to be.” He put the cup back down on the table and just stared at me.

“Is that what made you start?” I finally asked, leaning back in the booth we sat at. Continue reading A Conversation Over Coffee

Over a cup of coffee…

So, here I am, sitting at my table, a cup of coffee in hand, thumbing through my idea book of things to write about. It’s empty, by the way, and something about that empty white page scares me, so I doodle on it, cause isn’t that what you are suppose to do?

That’s when you walk over and sit in the seat next to me. I look up, we cordially¬†exchange pleasantries with a brief smile or nod, and then I go back to thumping my scribbled on white page with my pen, as if that will somehow make words magically appear from my head onto the medium.

You take a sip of you beverage, and glance over to see what I am doing. I can feel you lean toward me, scrying on my wordless page filling up with lines. I think to myself…

“Great, now you are going to think I am some sort of weirdo, just scribbling away on nothing. Go back to your drink, leave me alone, can’t you see I’m… um.. what am I doing anyway??”

And that’s when you do it. Continue reading Over a cup of coffee…