There can be bad days. There can be bad times. Where do we find the strength to go on? There is no single answer. For me, it's usually family, friends, a drawing, a poem, a memory. And coffee. Almost always, with coffee.
There are days when you don't want to talk, and that's okay. It's okay to give time for emotions and life to sway again in the afternoon wind, it's okay to give time for the river to return to being the current that brings colorful pebbles to the shore, with a little silt too. No matter.
It's okay to give time to take in the injustices and go on. Determining to live life is often the best remedy and often the best way to respond.
I recently had a normal day among many abnormal and deficient days. I will tell you a little about that coffee made by my sister Marlyn.
This time my sister invited my little family and my nephew to lunch. We are all fans of coffee, scrabble and Marlyn's food.
It was warm and the afternoon was bright. We met the new cat who, unintentionally, is the new cat. That's why I named him Meantime, because he was supposed to stay until they could get him a safe home. Of course the cat has already decided.
In the meantime he is still happy and beautiful and he is mining the hearts.
It was a beautiful coffee afternoon. I mean, it was a normal coffee afternoon, with no surprises, with pleasant conversations, with topics as peregrine as the real color of Himalayan salt. And I needed it. God, how I missed feeling like a normal diner, waiting for a delicious coffee at the table, expecting nothing more than the intimate pleasure of anticipation: bitterness, sweet, sour and vegetable notes, making its sparkling, lively and alert party in my mouth. Then, the wonderful comfort of the stomach. A delight.
And then came the coffee. That King of the afternoon, that precious liquid, that liquid gold, delicious and dark.
The coffee was prepared in my sister's Italian coffee maker. First, putting the water to boil in the reservoir of the same coffee maker, and then assembling the whole apparatus so that the frothy, dark and aromatic fountain poured out beautifully hot.
The cups were served with a small dessert on the side.
If you have frequented @marlyncabrera's blog, you know that she is usually an exquisite cook, making tasty, comfortable, succulent and beautiful food. I must say that, that afternoon, apart from the exquisite slice of cinnamon cake on the plate there was nothing prepared by her. In fact, she had already invested a lot of time and art in preparing for us some tenderloin sandwiches drizzled with truffle oil, lettuce, fresh tomatoes, and an extraordinary eggplant dressing.It was so delicious that I devoured it without taking a single picture.
The coffee, as I said, was simple - there were a couple of pirulís! And how I appreciated it.
The coffee: strong, black, with a little sugar. Just the way I like it. A long coffee, which I drank with my sister, my nephew and my family and which lasted all night, and stretched into dreams curing any sorrow.
