NACHO DREAMS

I woke up with tears on my face and squinted at the clock. It was 3:28 AM. I sighed and rolled over, scenes from the dream I had been in the middle of still playing out in my head. It was yet another breakup dream where Chris was dumping me. He does this in my dreams and every time, I hear myself pleading with him, begging him to give me another chance. I tell him I’ll do whatever he wants and I’ll change to fit any mold. Every time, he just shakes his head and turns away. This time was no different from the last time. I woke up rejected and heartbroken all over again.

I know why I have these dreams. Wait…that’s not really true. I don’t know why I am still having these dreams, but I understand the meaning in these dreams. Chris left me and there was nothing I could do about it. There was nothing I could do to make him stay. Death is the ultimate breakup. The difference now is that when I wake from these dreams, I no longer see that breakup as my fault. I know that Chris’s leaving had nothing to do with me not being enough. In the beginning though, I was not so sure and sometimes even now that idea of not enough is a thorn sticking into the soft part of some flesh on my body. It takes a needle and tweezers to pull it free, but once it is, there is a modicum of relief. I see pictures of couples celebrating the anniversaries that Chris and I should be celebrating and my heart fills with equal parts joy and jealousy for them. I wince as I feel a new thorn stab me and I dig into the medicine cabinet for my extraction tools.

Not to long ago, I dreamed that I had a fancy new coffee maker. At the push of a button, you could have any coffee beverage you wanted. Americano, espresso, latte, soy latte, mocha latte. Anything. Then there was another button you could push that would dispense nacho cheese dip. In my dream, I was giddy and holding a bowl of tortilla chips up to the coffee maker. By the end of it, I held an Americano in one hand and a bowl of nachos in the other and I was filled with joy. I did not realize until just now that this is exactly the kind of coffee maker Chris would have invented.

Why can’t all dreams be like this one?

SCENE

A mug of coffee nestled between both hands. A dog curled up in her bed next to my chair. I lean back and turn my head toward the window. The yard is coated in a blanket of white, as snow continues to fall. I ponder the idea of leaving the house today to get a jump start on the grocery shopping. It is a sour thought that exhausts me. Cleaning off the car, bundling up, lugging a bag full of groceries up a snow covered walkway. It seems like too much work for the day. I look out the window again and notice that the chickens haven’t even come out of their coop. I knew they wouldn’t and I didn’t even bother to go out and open their pen this morning. Chickens don’t care to free range on snow days. Maybe I will just focus my efforts on laundry today.

Things I could do today instead, but probably won’t: declutter an area of the house, clean, work on a writing project, jumping jacks. I have a friend who posted about not being mentally prepared for snow. She’s in Oklahoma and to be fair, snow used to be a rare occurrence in that state. I commented that I am never mentally prepared for snow and it is a much more common occurrence where I live. I am not prepared even when I know it is coming, even when I have paid attention to the forecast. Michael talked about planning a social distancing pizza party with his Moms in a park for Saturday. I asked him if he was sure about that. I said “It’s supposed to snow.” He called me a liar and went on with his day. It’s fair. I usually tell the weather forecasters that they are liars whenever they tell us that it is going to snow.

I get up from my chair and walk into the kitchen to refill my coffee mug. Then I walk over to the front door and peer out the window. I look at the street which is relatively clear and then look over at my car in the driveway. It is not clear, but covered in snow in a way that makes it look like it is made of snow. A block of snow on wheels. I shake my head in affirmation of skipping the grocery store today. I turn back to my desk and chair and plop down while wrapping a blanket around my shoulders like a grannie. I have stalled. I am idling. I am settling into my boredom. Actually allowing myself to be bored. Ideas sprout from boredom. I’ve been thinking of a business plan, a service. I either teach a chef to take better photos or I take the food pictures for them for their website. The classes will talk about lighting and building a cohesive and attractive online presence. The service would be photographing and editing photos and then providing digital files to be used on a website. What’s that worth? How much would you pay for a class or a service like that? That’s the sticking point. I’m always underselling myself. Even now with the idea, I feel unqualified. So the idea will just sit in the back of my brain until the next moment of boredom rolls around.

I take a sip of my coffee and wince. It has grown cold as I sat there dreaming up ideas. I sigh as I realize that the list of things I should do just continues to grow longer. Then I get up and head to the kitchen to pour out my cold coffee and refill the mug with warm coffee. As I pour the fresh coffee into the mug I realize that this process will be the loop of the day. Drink half the mug. Allow coffee to go cold. Dump. Fill up mug. Repeat. It is a familiar loop. Start writing something. Set it aside. Dump half of it. Start writing something else. Repeat. Come up with a good idea. Set it aside. Tell myself I’m not qualified or I don’t have the time. Return to that idea. Repeat. I sit down at my desk and look at my keyboard. Today, I am determined to finish this one cup of coffee before it gets cold.

Life goals.

LOVE THURSDAY

Cup-o-tea.

"Cup-o-tea."

I have been a coffee girl since I was very little. I found that if I was sitting in my highchair, I could hop up and down and scoot the highchair around the kitchen. I managed to pour scalding hot coffee down the front of my body twice. Look. This was 1977. The terms "baby proofing" hadn't been invented yet. I sat on a box in Dad's truck so I could see out the window or make it easier to be thrown out the window. Take your pick. After the second attempt to "fix" myself a cup of coffee, Mom started fixing me a sippy cup of mostly milk, a little sugar and little coffee. Not every day. It was always a treat, but by the time I was sixteen I was making my own mugs of joe. At first there was cream and sugar. Then just sugar. Now just black. I have been spoiled over the years with really good coffee made by experienced barristas and I've had what could only be described as sludge from gas stations. 

I enjoy a cup of coffee in the mornings and on weekends I may enjoy more than a cup, but it's never been a must have beverage or an all times of the day thing for me. I remember how Chris would brew a pot of coffee and drink on it all day. He'd still be sipping a cup late into the night. I don't know how he did it. I could drink a baby sized can of Coke at one o'clock in the afternoon and still struggle with going to sleep at bedtime. But again, I don't drink coffee for a buzz. I drink it because I enjoy it. And while coffee is my go-to hot morning drink, tea is my afternoon drink. Every day around three in the afternoon, one of the guys in the office will say "Tea Time!" We will grab our cups and mugs and walk down to the cafeteria discussing science or baseball. Though it is declared that it is tea time, I am the only one that gets a hot tea. Jeff will get an iced tea while Jay usually goes for an espresso. I traded in my morning cup of coffee for tea when Mom and I where in Ireland. There was the occasional cafe au lait but most mornings I found that the tea kettle was easier to manage than the coffee pot. Less complicated. Michael is a tea drinker. He thought there were some teas he preferred to others until he found out he had been brewing those teas at the wrong temperature. I realized that tea is more complicated than I had originally thought.  

The thing that I like best about both of these is there is a ritual to their production. Beans must be properly ground, fine or course depending on the brew method and there are so many brew methods. Drip. Pressed. Pour Over. Vac Pot. Stove top peculator. I actually have one of those. I never use it. Black teas are brewed at higher temperatures than white teas. The amount of time you leave the tea to steep is important. If you leave green tea to steep too long, it gets bitter. Even if you are not the one making the tea or coffee, there is a ritual to drinking it. The way you hold the mug. The time of day you choose to sit down and drink it. It may be a moment of quiet reflection or surrounded with people and discussion. It falls into the same category of why everyone gravitates to a kitchen during a party. Comfort. It is comforting.  

Here's to comfort on this day, especially to those who are snowed in or wish they were snowed in. Happy Love Thursday.