Would you like some coffee?

Photo credit: Danielle MacInnes

I was five years old when I had my first taste of coffee. My Spanish grandmother slid the flowered porcelain cup sitting delicately atop its saucer toward me and said, “Es hora de que pruebes el cafe.” It’s time for you to try coffee.

Some might think that a five year old drinking coffee is preposterous, but for nana, it was every bit a rite of passage.

I remember inhaling its heady aroma, glancing at the creamy white cafe con leche (the Spanish version of a latte) that filled the cup halfway. Gingerly bringing it to my lips, I took a tentative sip. I let the smoothness of the Arabica beans, mixed with the frothy milk, slide down my throat slowly. And just like that, I was a goner.

I’ve had the privilege of drinking a varied amount of coffee since my first degustation. I’ve had frothy cappuccinos in Florence, dark and strong espresso in Rome, cafe au lait in Paris, cafe bonbon in Barcelona, and cafe lungho in Amsterdam. Not thinking myself a coffee snob, I’ve also had Americanos at nearly every train station in the Netherlands. Whilst in the States, I’ve drank coffee from Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and even McDonald’s. (Coffee connoisseurs inhale sharply here.) I think it’s safe to say I’ve never turned down a cup of coffee–all the way from free samples at posh supermarkets, to strong Turkish coffee poured ceremoniously by a host who refused to sit down till I told her I’d had my coffee fill.

Coffee permeates every aspect of life. Coffeemakers are an essential piece of equipment in the workplace and without a doubt, many homes boast not one, but many means of making coffee. Whether brewed in a French press, Italian moka pot, Chemex, or Nespresso machine, coffee knows it plays a leading role.

We are surrounded by coffee. It starts off our day, rounds off our dinner, and keeps us awake when falling asleep is not an option. More importantly, in a world where there is a demand for productivity, people turn to coffee to give them that jolt necessary to complete tasks.

Coffee does not discriminate. There are different flavors and roasts to accommodate all demographics. Some see coffee as the perfect initiator of round table discussions, while others drink it to stay alert while they study or drive. And while the place where java is consumed may set the tone, ultimately it’s the coffee that takes center stage.

Sadly, the passing of time has greatly diminished the social activity of coffee drinking. While some still frequent cafes for small talk, one is more likely to see coffee being consumed in places where individuals are working distractedly on laptops, reading, or busily scribbling to do lists. It almost appears as if in this modern day caffeinated scene, coffee has been demoted to a prop.

The hissing of the old Italian pot gurgling on the stove top wakes me from my reverie. I allow my mind to once again remember the kitchen scene where my taste buds first made coffee’s acquaintance. I see my grandmother’s nod of approval as she hears my sigh of content. “Now tell me about your day, Bella,” I hear her say as she takes off her apron and pulls up a chair. I narrate the day’s events as she listens attentively. I ask her questions and she answers them, a smile on her beautiful face.

Returning my attention to the present, I pour myself a cup of coffee and sigh nostalgically. How I miss those days!

Do you like coffee as much as I do?

XOXO,

Am I truly a writer?

Photo credit: Patrick Fore

I want to think I’ve been missed. I want to imagine someone has wondered why I haven’t posted to my blog in over a year. I need to believe that someone, anyone, has asked himself or herself where I am.

The truth is, I’ve been held hostage, or more accurately, I’ve held myself hostage. This isn’t the first time this has happened. Readers who follow my blog can attest to the fact that my going AWAL has become rather habitual; that my rants have become fewer and far between.

And that’s because I’ve convinced myself that the only time I can write is when everything is alright, when all my ducks are in a row, when everything has been handled and I can finally set my imagination free.

Yet my time in captivity has taught me that these expectations will never be met. I am never going to have enough time. My ducks are never going to be perfectly aligned, and something will always require my attention.

That’s life. That’s the way things are and sadly, nothing is going to change. So after much pondering, I’ve concluded that if I don’t take action, this blog is going to die. My virtual friends are going to disappear. And if I wait long enough, no one will wonder where I’ve gone.

Some time ago, I remember reading that “a true writer is unable to stop writing,” and that it’s “easier for a writer to stop breathing than to stop writing.” While I agree that there are times writers are unable to stop writing, I disagree that only those capable of doing this can be classified as writers.

Which leads me to ask, am I truly a writer? This question is what has prompted me to determine what direction this blog will take–before it dies, before you forget about me.

Perhaps more than a writer I’m a communicator. After all, it is vital to my state of well being for me to communicate; to share with others that which touches my life. Parting from that premise, perhaps I don’t need to wait for the perfect time to write what I believe to be an exceptional piece. Instead, perhaps I should communicate more.

I truly hope you will come along for the ride. I promise to try and make it an interesting journey.

XOXO,

Spanish sun, where have you gone?

The summer is fast departing and little Roxy and I have still not reconciled with the fact our time in Spain has ended. The thought that it’ll be another year before we again see our beloved summer place is too painful to bear.

Back in June, Roxy and I were all too eager to board the plane that would take us to the magical place we visit every year. We were more than ready to join the throngs of sun worshipers who congregate at the beach located just across the street from my mother’s apartment.

Alas, that time is no more.

I inhale deeply as I wait for my coffee to brew. Within minutes, its enticing aroma fills the kitchen. I allow my little moka pot to rest on the burner and feel the bewitching scent swirling around me.

Closing my eyes, I recall the gastronomic paradise we’ve left behind. Plates full of steaming paella, colorful and aromatic, dance before my eyes. Baskets of golden churros, accompanied by steaming mugs of hot chocolate, beckon me from afar. Spanish vino and a multitude of tapas seem to whisper, “Where have you gone?”

I sigh deeply. We’ve only been back a few days and already I yearn to return.

I miss the ocean waves that lulled me to sleep every night. I miss the smell of the sea outside of my window. I miss the frothy waves that cradled me on my afternoon swim. I miss the warm sand between my toes.

Looking at my tanned skin, I realize it won’t be long before my skin turns sallow and this newly acquired golden hue is gone.

Summer.

That time of the year when I’m allowed to pause.
That time of the year when I hit the reset button.
That time of the year when I beckon the sun’s rays to charge my emotional batteries.

I sigh nostalgically as I remember the many “dolce far niente” moments Roxy and I experienced. Slowly sipping my coffee, I realize we should all be so lucky to experience these kind of moments. They’re good for the soul and prompt the body and mind to relax; to take a break from the daily conundrum.

Indeed, my Spanish summer is behind me but this doesn’t mean I will not hit the pause button as fall approaches. And that’s because the older I get, the more I realize the only way to move forward is to take breaks along the way.

I refuse to be a marathon runner. Instead, I scribble my name in the short distance category. Why? Because something tells me that whatever awaits at the finish line is going to be the same no matter what.

Taking in this new found notion, Roxy and I settle comfortably on the couch. We may not be in Spain but this doesn’t mean we can’t have a “siesta” (nap) and dream of “chorizo” and Manchego cheese.

How was your summer break?

XOXO,