The coffee tastes a little strong this morning. All the same, the mildly bitter, toasty-warm liquid is a soothing familiarity to me. I've been a coffee lover since the age of 5, when I would sip a concoction of the brew, which included very generous amounts of milk and sugar. Today, as I drink my grown-up version of the same, I sit and gaze out of the dining room window at a beautiful Sunday morning. It is just beginning to stir with a determined jogger, an old golden retriever quietly doing his business while his owner looks on, and flittering birds, chirping their first-of-day hellos. Miss is in the other room, asleep, her gorgeous mane of hair strewn over her favorite feather pillow, the cat curled tightly at her feet. This morning I fully feel the gratitude for my life that I can selfishly forget from time to time.
Sure, in a while I will attack my Sunday chores, probably cuss as I try and hammer around my thumb when I hang that candle-plant holder contraption in the bathroom, I will moan about the rent check I'm going to write, and I will make faces when I take out the trash, put away my laundry, and jump on that God-damned treadmill in our office. However, I know that tonight, as Miss and I settle into our couch and flip on the television, we will take in our Sunday-clean apartment, look at each other and say, "the place looks good, no?" In other lives right around me, and all over this world - people do not have it so well.
These quiet moments in the morning, filled with yawns and coffee... they are a blessing I wish for you all.
xo,
Ms.
