the love of my life

Dear coffee,

I know National Coffee Day was Saturday, but you must forgive my lateness. You are my favorite morning ritual. You are all about familiarity: the same Folgers coffee grounds, the same Anthropologie mug, the same International Delight Caramel Macchiato creamer. You never fail to provide me with a sense of comfort and an essence of home that exists now only in my memories.

It's the mornings when my grandma would get me up for school and already have a bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal and a glass of milk waiting at my seat at the kitchen counter. She would say good morning to me as she poured herself her second cup of coffee. The first was always consumed as she read the paper every morning. There was usually a 50/50 chance she was going to explode the egg she was trying to poach in the microwave, and we'd have a laugh about it as I read the comics and she tried to salvage her breakfast.

It's Saturday mornings on the weekends I spent with my dad. Puttering around in his apartment, still sleepy-eyed and seeing him drinking coffee out of one of his mismatched coffee mugs. I always coveted his Circus World mug for my hot chocolate during the winter. He had approximately 3,000 cups of coffee during the day when he took planes cars, trains, and buses to get to his jobs sites in Downtown Chicago, and I always got to help him haul his thermoses out of his car on Friday nights.

It's the mornings when my mom started working third shift and she would always bring me a cappuccino from Kwik Trip on her way home from work. English Toffee was my favorite, and if I was lucky she'd throw a little hot cocoa into the mix. It was our little before school ritual when I was in middle school and she was working as a CNA. Nothing like being hyped up on caffeine and sugar to give you the energy to put out so much teenage angst with your friends at lunch.

It's the mornings before I left for college when I bought a container of International Delight French Vanilla creamer from Gooseberries, determined to become a coffee drinker like a ~real adult.~ The cups were mostly cream and very little coffee, but it was a comforting ritual to have something warm to drink before starting my days that were about to be turned upside down by art school and my ever-so-slightly-soul-crushing entrance into adulthood 1500 miles away from home.

It's in the mornings spent curled up on the couch in our old apartment, knitting my first blanket and watching Gilmore Girls reruns on ABC Family back when it was still called ABC Family. That hour I gave to myself each morning made me feel like me again when pretty much everything else in my life had exploded into a giant flaming mess. That morning ritual gave me hope that if I could establish some sort of routine, maybe everything else would be okay too.

All of those mornings have evolved into my now, where I start every morning with a fresh cup. Pull up my dancing playlist on my phone and go take a walk around the yard while I drink my coffee. Feeling the quiet in the air and the warmth from my coffee cup makes me feel alive on the days that it's hard to pull myself out of bed at all.

I love you, coffee. Never change.