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| The Beast Entitled 'Cuisinart' |
.....as seen through my eyes!
By: Jacqueline E. Hughes
She awakes with the sound of the radio playing softly in her ear, not unlike every other morning. The local Public Broadcasting Station is highlighting a cut from Michel Beroff and (The Complete Solo Piano Works of Debussy - Preludes Premier Livre). Apropos. However, before NPR News signs-on and interrupts the musical rhythm, she taps the 'off' button and slips quietly out of her warm, cozy surroundings trying not to disturb the loving man sharing the space beside her.
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| Claude Debussy |
Lightly closing the bedroom door, she gingerly makes her way to the kitchen weaving through morning shadows of grays and pinks as she passes by the two sets of French doors that open the family room up to the back patio. The morning sun barely filters through the tall live oak trees that border the east side or front of the property. Soon its golden light will seep through the mullioned front windows casting out all remnants of the night shadows that lurk in every corner and crevice inside the house. Until then, she clicks on the small kitchen lamp and softly illuminates the counter nearest the coffee maker.
Emitting a small chuckle, she knows she could perform this morning routine in pitch-blackness.....if she wanted to.
Having already filled the deep well of the machine to the twelve-cup mark with cold tap water, she closes her eyes and gently reaches for a flat paper filter from the blue glazed ceramic bowl to her left. Deftly she extracts a single filter from the stack and proceeds to apply gentle pressure to each corner until she feels the paper slowly opening like flower petals in the early morning light. Producing the familiar cone shape, she slips it into the recess at the top of the machine.
With eyes still closed, her fingers locate the cool metal clasp of the canister holding the lid shut that creates an airtight seal protecting the precious ground contents inside. Flicking it upwards, the clasp snaps open.....and, the delicious aroma of dark roasted coffee is released and carried along the gentle movements of air that lightly flow through the kitchen. Delicious. Her slender fingers seek the small, wooden handle of the petite measuring scoop that is attached to the lid and she methodically plunges it into the canister's rich contents.
Crunch, one scoop. Crunch, two scoops. Crunch, three scoops....and so on, until all twelve tiny mounds of coffee are extracted from the depths of the container. She feels like a giant playing with children's sand toys at the beach as the twelve passes fill the paper filter to the proper level. Snapping the lid of the beast entitled 'Cuisinart' shut, she flutters her eyelids open and depresses the start button.
The machine huffs and puffs now as the hot water it has created attempts to filter through the mound of dry coffee grounds and begins to remind her of the toy train engines that she and her older brother played with as children. As the water strains through the paper filter and begins to explode into the clear glass carafe she has placed beneath it, her attention drifts towards the cable box nestled snugly beneath the flat screen television in the next room. Even though the bright blue numbers digitally proclaim the early hour of six-oh-five in the morning, she is happy to see the red light below them vividly shining and casting its glow across the darkened space. She understands that the DVR is up and running right on schedule and is recording today's Stage of Le Tour de France happening in 'real time' and to be watched later at her convenience. She continues to be delighted by modern technology!
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| Morning Concerts |
The family of cardinals nesting within the towering Viburnum plants along the north side of the house are waking-up, too. She can almost pinpoint the height of the rising sun by their melodic notes and the nearly perfect repeat timing of their morning concerts. Some people find the shrillness of their songs annoying......but, she finds the musical communication complex and exciting and is happy that they return each year to nest.
While the aromatic mahogany-colored liquid continues to fill the carafe, she saunters over to the cabinet that contains her coffee mug collection and chooses her favorite one for this morning's brew. After all, today is a Special day! It's really not so much about what the mug is shaped like or even what color it might be. For her, it's all about the shape of the handle and if it's long enough to accommodate her fingers comfortably. This insight into mug configurations conjures up childhood memories of her Russian Grandpa who drank his coffee from the same white ceramic mug each setting. She smiles to herself as she is reminded of her Grandma complaining about how ridiculous this habit was. Are we really the personification of the spirit of our beloved ancestors, she wondered, taking her own mug over to be filled-up. Perhaps, we are.
Lifting the carafe off of the hot plate, she carefully pours the hot
liquid into her mug thinking about how it resembles a slightly thinner version of the (java brown) glaze she's been using to stain her kitchen cabinets with. Their kitchen renovation is now entering a third week and, if truth be told, the initial fun and excitement of transforming an outdated kitchen is desperately waning with each passing day. Even though the successful outcome of this lengthy project is the main objective, the daily process of work needed to be done to complete it has become tedious at times. She tucks the thought away for now. There's ample time to think about the kitchen later.....
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| My Office |
Turning off the lamp, she picks-up her steaming mug and turns down the small hallway that leads to her office and the doorway into her 'other world.' This is what she's been waiting for, really, ever since drifting along with Debussy only a short time ago. Never the one capable of turning-off the subconscious mind, she learns to live with all the 'chatter' that accompanies her every thought. There's not much else she can do about that, after all.
The subconscious mind forgets nothing! She can only see this as being an asset as she settles her coffee mug on the coaster and turns to softly close the door behind her. It is a beautiful beginning to a Sunday morning, her Special time, and she is aware that all is well within her conscious world, for the moment. Now it's time to say hello to 'the others' and make note of what is going to happen in their lives today.
Anticipation is played out in joyous hope and expectations..... She is a writer and will occupy space in the 'other world' until she decides it's time to return. When she does, the existing process within her will be played out time and again like the force of the moon and sun on sea levels, incorporating Rhythm....Detail....and, Repetition!!
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| Rhythm...Detail...Repetition!!! |
Copyright © 2014 By Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved
