Cups of Coffee & Snarky Tea

img_1152A confession. Sometimes I drink tea. I do. After 5 PM on work days when I know if I drink more coffee, I will not be asleep in time to wake up in a state fit for human consumption the next morning. Last night, I forgot about the tea, drank WAY too much Death Wish coffee, and paid dearly at work. So tea is better in the afternoon.

If I could have it with little cakes, it would be even better but my expanding girth forbids that much indulgence. Anyhow, my bestie buddy brought me this Snarky tea from Nashville. Snarky tea of “Get You Sh*t Together” and “Calm the F*ck Down” variety. She has a way of telling me what she is thinking that only a best friend can.

CalmTheSnark is right up my alley so perfect gift. Surprisingly, this tea is damn good. I mean really good. The best tea I have ever had. And it has an attitude. There are also cups to go with the tea- featured here in orange. And candles that stink pretty while cursing at you. It’s a writer’s dream.

Reading the tea cans alone is worth ordering some of this tea. I laughed so hard and then sent some to my daughter. The one that talks about “Adulting is hard” because my kid is up in New York City attempting the whole adulting thing and it hasn’t always gone well. I’m still failing miserably at it.

Cups Of Coffee & The Broken Road

img_1157My daughter moved to New York about 18 months ago. I miss her awfully. I think of her whenever I drink from this, my favorite coffee mug, a present from her before she graduated from college. She has excellent taste in mugs and candles. Always has.

Her childhood passed us both by like a breezy summer’s day at the beach, a flurry of memory of sun and the tough bits we have let go for the most part. My beautiful child grown and gone. Time never stands still.

 

img_0448I take another sip. In so many ways, I remain that scared, young single mother on the beach, taking my baby to a place I had been happy in my childhood.

A mistake I thought I had made became a miracle of love and growth. Now she is out there, a woman grown, wings fully formed. God bless that broken road that lead me to a wondrous destination.

 

Cups of Coffee And The People Over There

img_1147I have been pulled out of my own world and asked for opinions on this dreary piece of dirt recently. What side am I on? This is the question I remove my headphones to answer.  I surmise that my answer is how this eager and anxious little human will decide to hate me or use me. Lose/lose situation as far as I can see.

Ok, conflict. I get that. No story without it, but the conflict out here is the kind that ALWAYS ends badly. So I sip at my coffee and stare blankly at this buzzing little mortal. They do not go away. Annoying. I sigh, rethinking the whole bathing thing. Perhaps, if I could omit enough stench, I would not be plagued with these pick one side and stick to it sorts of debacles humans are always getting themselves into. Binary thinking. It’s so limiting. What the Hell do they teach in these schools these days? Clearly, common sense is not part of the curriculum.

I take a verse from Tolkien and give the emotionally dribbling human the same answer as Treebird. “I am not all together on anyone’s side because no one is on my side.

That pretty well sums up my politics on any issue. I figure that will be the end of the conversation and back under the headphones I can go to drink my coffee and work so I can pay rent and spend the rest of my time writing. No.

The inquirer foams at the mouth and makes an incoherent plea for their position. I hope what they want to happen (which involves death and dismemberment and revenge) never happens. That cycle turns cyclone all too quickly.

C’mon people. Cain killed Abel and after that, we never stopped killing the people over there. Eternity has cried out from rocks and burning bushes that we must love one another. A man of great peace and dignity came into the world and told us to love one another and paradise we would have. We nailed him to a tree.

Everything in us proclaims that love is the answer, the very beat of our hearts, the first cry we make as we enter the world, the last gasp of breath we take leaving it begs us to love one another for goodness sake. All we hear is “go kill the people over there.” Whoever the people over there happen to be. Until we become the people over there. How does this solve anything?

I take another sip of coffee and go under my headphones where the fate of this unfortunate ‘please chose a side so I can decide if I like you or not‘ was foretold almost forty years ago. I put on the headphones and listen to the old song, one that told me exactly what mob rule would get you when I was not even ten years old. Hatchet, axe, and saw.

Yes, I know. I am insensitive. I hear the cry to love one another. And yeah, I’m killing the people over there instead, but only on paper. I am a writer. I don’t get paid to be sensitive. I don’t get paid at all and won’t get paid unless I finish this book. Now stop all the drama so I can work. Geez. Maybe an attack of dragons really would do some good. I mean really.

There is unrest in the forest
There is trouble with the trees
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas 

The trouble with the maples
And they’re quite convinced they’re right
They say the oaks are just too lofty
And they grab up all the light

But the oaks can’t help their feelings
If they like the way they’re made
And they wonder why the maples
Can’t be happy in their shade? 

There is trouble in the forest
And the creatures all have fled
As the maples scream ‘oppression!’
And the oaks, just shake their heads 

So the maples formed a union
And demanded equal rights
‘The oaks are just too greedy
We will make them give us light’
Now there’s no more oak oppression
For they passed a noble law
And the trees are all kept equal

By hatchet,
Axe,
And saw

 

 

Cups of Coffee and Crunchy Writers

img_1144Today’s cup of coffee celebrates that prickly feeling a writer gets when a dragon stops by to blow holes in their work and eat the writer’s favorite character. There are a number of ways to handle a dragon in fiction. It can be big and mean and slain by some gallant knight. Most dragons have magic to go with their fire-breathing or acid-spitting ways so they might turn into a shape that can be coped with – a beautiful human with a slightly scaly appearance. It might talk. It might hoard treasure. It might be inclined to help a human, do so for a price, or it might simply burn villages to the ground until a suitable number of virgins are sacrificed to it. Fictionally speaking.

CrunchyThe reality of the dragon is less enthralling. They don’t leave any readers to make anything of the lovely fictional dragons that fly about in our fancies. Always, dragons have been there. In every bit of history we have access to, there are dragons. Some friendly if you go east. Some less so. Some slain by saints and knights. Some simply sleeping and posing as a mountain. Let us be careful never to wake the dragons. For one thing is true, to a dragon, we are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.

However, the dragon on my cup does not sour the goodness of morning’s first sip of coffee. So another day revising and hoping my character can find a way to escape the dragon he mistook for a mountain.