An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

Mend a broken heart Sew it up with needle and thread a broken life with sticks and glue even if you use the latest technology employ the best techniques some scars will remain dug deep into its core: the soul remembers. Mend a broken soul Glue it piece by piece a broken hope with needle and thread even if you bind them together use the pins and needles some cracks with remain dug deep into the crevice: the heart remembers.

8,724:  the distance in miles between the Philippines and the Eastern coast of the US 28,470: the number of days in 78 years 4000: the distance in miles between London, UK and North Carolina 18,262: the number of days in 50 years Mother Eight thousand seven hundred and twenty four That is how many miles from beginning to end. Where the story starts to where it finally ends. From one land to another to one culture to the next Quite a journey is it not? Twenty eight thousand four hundred and seventy That is how many days from beginning to end Where the tale will start and it still keeps going. From one moment to another to one adventure to the next It's an epic is it not? Daughter Four thousand That is how many miles from beginning to now. A home I've never known to an abode I've always been My heart still yearns for what could have, should have It's a tragedy, is it not? Eighteen thousand two hundred and sixty two That is how many days from beginning to end When the saga

That feeling that everything is going the way you want it. Life runs smoothly events happen as planned. Synchronicity One event leads to another go with the flow No need to think at one with the universe that rare rare sensation of being at the right place at the right time signposts that assure you that you are on the right path. Your footsteps are sure in the correct direction heading towards the finish line. Sometimes the road curves in a different direction from what you expected and it leads into the underbrush of doubt and despair. You check your compass over and over but trust in the process it will not let you astray. Then at the end it will all make sense.

Bursting with flavor biting into a juicy orange a ripe apple a beautiful pomegranate it explodes onto the tongue and sends ecstasy to your brain reminds you of the time of complete nirvana one with the universe The cliche is trite and overused, overworked but since it happens so rarely how else do you describe it in any other words that don't sound flowery and trite? The dictionary doesn't help and sometimes simple is better even if it causes so many groans of disgust and the rolling of eyes into their heads.

  "Each garden is a grave" (after Richard Howard , prompt from The Writer's Retreat Kit by Judy Reeves ) Each garden is a grave life's decay enriches the very soil under your feet. Leaves crumple to the ground as the autumn winds blow the world above lies in slumber. Underneath the seeds are dormant in the arms of darkness They sleep the temperature dips far below what life demands. Some take their last breath and their blanket is cold icy earth. But it doesn't last forever. Before long new life springs forth from the old awakens and stretches out arms to the sun. And shines in all its glory the warm rays bathes it with their favor. Short and fleeting Till Nature's cycle runs its course. Till arms grow heavy and droop beautiful colors fade roots wither and die petals scatter like insects to nourish the dark loam that will harbor the next generation at the very same place the very same time. Over and over over again.

 Prompt: "Down to the deepest depths I peered" (after The Poetic EddaI, prompt from The Writer's Retreat Kit by Judy Reeves ) The Poetic Edda is a collection of alliterative verse based on Old Norse and Germanic legends. There are several versions of the collection.) Down to the deepest depths I peered to see a silver sun instead filled with fronds of falling leaves red and rose and rapture green. A passion seen in purple prose darkening to deep desire the ballad of a brazen bard sweet song of sentimental stone The tone can tell a troubled tale from fiery cave to freezing falls terrible trials and trying times a victory in vicious verse. Peace will have a precious price Coveting a cache of coin Silencing secrets out of sight for freedom, fame and fortune. What's the worth of such a weight a conscience cracked and charred so cruel? Steeped in sin but still so soft History will have her hand.

(Prompt: "Comfort Me with Apples", quote from The Song of Solomon, 2:5, King James Version , prompt from The Writer's Retreat Kit by Judy Reeves ) Comfort me with apples the smell of freshly baked pie wafting through the kitchen window on the first days of autumn. The feeling of home of the love of family and of friends brought together under a banner of falling leaves. Apple tarts picked ripe from the tree from branch to oven in a moment Dough rolled out by a loving hand sprinkled with spices. Tempt me with the sweetness fork with every bite rich and full with the hint of tartness beneath. The laughter of my brethren echoes across the mountains and hills seeing the young and the old together I am content.

Prompt: "Poetry roots itself in the dreamer" (quote from Judy Michaels , prompt from The Writer's Retreat Kit by Judy Reeves ) Poetry roots itself in the dreamer Words bubble to the top like a glass of lazy seltzer water. The bubbles burst and release their voice quiet and brief. You have to listen carefully catch it in the right moment then write it for posterity. Sometimes it doesn't show itself in the bright sun of the day.. It sneaks around at the dead of night when your eyes are closed and your consciousness travels to other inner worlds. That's where it takes hold. The river of words which arrives, then stays there waiting to be discovered hidden until the right time the right place for it to crash forth to be heard.

(6 Greek, 5 Hindu, 2 Japanese, 2 Chinese...and 1 English) There are sixteen words for love: 1) Agape , unconditional with no if, and, or but my goodwill towards all 2) Eros , physical purely an appreciation of the body with the soul. 3) Philia , brotherly love affectionate regard friendship 4) Storge , parental from a mother or a father to a child. 5) Philautia , to oneself concerned with one's own happiness or advantage 6) Xenia , hospitality welcome to my house mi casa e tu casa. 7) Kama , longing craving for the senses pleasure of all kinds 8) Shringara , rapture emotional bonding the giddiness of your presence 9) Maitri , compassion giving love in so many little ways food, comfort, kindness 10) Bkhati , devotion praying to your Deity day after day for peace 11) Atma-Prema , love for self we are all one, there is no distinction, no difference 12) Kachou Fuugetsu , love of nature feel the wind in the trees, the heat of the sun and get to know yourself 13) Koi no Yokan , love a

If all you look at are numbers statistics popularity you can be primed for disappointment. Four views three of those blogs promoting crypto and AI. Negativity and drama fueling clicks and arguments. Pandering to an audience hungry for content. Bad news generate revenue good news generate grumbling "this never happened. give me proof it did". Bite sized chunks for a ant sized attention span. Flashy music and graphics fake smiles and outrage hollow laughter covers unease. Desensitized to the horrors that life can unleash. "It could be worse" backseat analysts pass judgment. The hidden gems are buried in the dross: you have to make the effort to find them. If you want to open your mind and your heart and lift your spirits defy the algorithm.

The randomness of it all: teddy bears, smiley faces and the faces of customers sitting in the diner Quick pen strokes capturing the weariness the cheerfulness the hustle and bustle of servers coming and going from the kitchens shouting "corner!" to prevent collisions and the chatter of the old style cash register. Tiny pictures crammed into every available space a capture of a time when all eyes are turned away but a snapshot of the moment still exists.

Prompt: A World without Music (from The Writer's Retreat Kit by Judy Reeves ) It was strange, to move about with absolutely no sound. No birdsong, no rustle of leaves in the trees, no soft footfall in your wake. A world of complete, utter silence. Yes, every color was perfectly balanced to the eye. The feel of silk as it whispered across your skin. The tart sweetness of a newly peeled orange on your tongue.The smell of roses and wintergreen and the aroma of a homecooked meal. Yet something feels off, not quite right. Although everything else in this world is perfect, it is not perfect. There is something missing, something quite important. The world is bathed in perpetual quiet, and it's unnerving.  

  The candle burns brightly from both ends as the storm quiets down the flames flicker as they slowly reach towards each other not at the same speed or at the same intensity. The wick that runs through slowly and inevitably brings them together it may take days weeks months years as wax sizzles and drips onto the floor and freeze into all sorts of shapes out of view and forgotten. Will they finally meet or will one burn out before they can immolate each other?

 More #vss365 responses in haiku and tanka. Prompt words are marked with # #greed not just for funds time, affection, attention it's never enough #rats scurry around wondering at the wide wide world through their simple eyes. Today I ran my fingers along the edge of the kitchen knife. I had to come face to face with all possibilities. What am I to you? #Chopped liver, fancy but bad? Parade me around serve me on silver platters, but you can't live without me. Colors on my #brush pastels, the color of spring sunny storms abound. A contradiction: approval is so #fluid one day it is good the next, according to whim withdrawn because of reasons. So day after day I #muster the energy to face all of it. Old wise matriarch she always kept the peace and held it together the #glue who oversaw all that fell apart at her loss. The leading questions #probing for what I do know what you keep hidden. #Cathartic feeling when someone confirms to you that you aren't nuts that

The sun sinks low on the horizon. It is still warm. Dusk paints a colorful palette purples, reds, oranges that dazzle the eye. It doesn't fail to amaze, astound and humble the soul. That even then, even now the cycle reaches its conclusion but it doesn't have to be the end. The Darkness doesn't need to be feared. It is a doorway to a brand new world. You don't need eyes to hear the nightingale's siren song to usher you to sleep. The stars above watch close they've been there since the beginning and will endure until the end of time. You are not alone there is nothing to fear. Let peace be your blanket as the day falls away.

The sculptor looks at the block with a loving critical eye plans where to strike where to sand it down sharp points into curves Mold an unforgiving stone into a pleasing shape lifelike with depth and shadow and breathes existence at the very last second. Delicate lace, muscles and tendons appear soft to one's vision but reach out a hand and touch to find not fabric or flesh but the hard coldness underneath. This illusion is complete. Mastery of the life from lifelessness. Marvel at the depth of skill the rare vision of pure transformation It takes your breath away.  

The air grows warmer I catch sunlight between my fingertips The sound of bees during the day and the chirp of crickets at night. The wind blows cold from east to west and back again. Not a cloud in the sky a perfect pastel blue with no storms to be seen. Those were halcyon days when Nature woke up and basked in the lengthy hours of a carefree afternoon.

Words can be used as blunt instruments but they can also be as sharp as a scalpel or a razor that cuts into your soul and makes it bleed. Even after years discovering that the true soul doesn't lie when it says its truth hidden away among pages sandwiched between colorful covers. Realization sets in that what you thought was sacred, inviolate turns out to be a carefully constructed fiction to prop up a hollow dead soul. A soul that died years ago now the corpse is walking and taking up the pen writing to ghosts who deliver their sting long after the fact: a double edged sword.

Here, take this you really shouldn't go alone: The magical sword a relic of power the magic ring of invisibility the latest technology the power of friendship Gather your allies and sally forth have fun storming the castle don your plot armor. Quest giver the old learned wizard the lady of the lake the forgotten sensei in the bamboo forest of dreams. Conquer your enemy scale the highest mountain vanquish the dragon complete the mission your very essence changed. Return home in triumph showered with wealth and glory or slip back undetected wiser and more world weary to live the rest of your days.

Words Reflections of feelings events in a person's life Their background history their home different words depending from where they came but meaning the exact same thing. Sometimes flowery rolling like the hills abstract yet touching a poet's spin on a simple description. Sometimes precise zeroing in on the details with no room for error under a scientist's discerning eye. How else do you explain the workings of the mind of the soul of the heart with the goal of being understood

A year ago I looked at a mess of music and said "I'll never be able to do this." Chords, arpeggios, flourishes tablature?! A whole new way of thinking a whole new way of moving fingers along the strings muscle memory practice scales over and over and over. Why do we have to do this?! Repetition, while there is music to be played! Tunes to be learned melodies to be shared! But slowly but surely my body knew where to go my ear knew what to hear and it all came together in a glorious symphony. And my soul was in awe.

The length of a piece means very little. A world within just a few words. A whole lot of nothing in a thousand pages. A soft and sweet lullaby with a very simple cadence puts a baby to sleep. An hours-long concerto with ever complicated arias puts an audience into a coma. Words of acknowledgment just a hint or two lifts the spirit higher than a rambling dissertation of how they benefit from the company's generosity. A concise explanation of how life works serves one more than a long winded tirade of every systemic flaw. Wisdom is knowing how to teach without falling in love with your own voice.

Stream of consciousness whatever comes to mind just get it down on the paper or screen. Spelling doesn't matter disjointed fragments of what, when, where, how, why. Five minutes here two hours there it builds up in between appointments life's crises, school shenanigans and emergencies. Every day even for a fraction notes jotted down on the back of a napkin captured in the moment just one key word to spark a remembrance. Life's full of pitfalls internet rabbit holes Sometimes I miss a day but that's all right. If I get one word in if one idea is heard it is worth it

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The spirit of the times whatever is popular right now history is a bubble What is important at this present moment in this space of time How are you feeling? The way forward is golden or tarnished or dark. Optimistic or realistic or pessimistic. The future is ours to behold the past is behind us. But right here right now the judgment of the ages come with the hindsight of wisdom which really doesn't change In this carefree time the youths see life with open eyes and live right here in the moment.

Almond and Olive Cypress and Seagrass Sandalwood Rose Japanese Blossom Shea Butter Fragrant Apple Lavender Natural Cold batch Vegan Handcrafted Wrapped up in pretty paper milled by the most careful hands. A deluge of scents A rainbow of colors Pamper your senses Treat your skin Luxuriate Soak in the water And let your worries and cares drift away from your mind.

Bread from my childhood the smell takes me back la panetteria the bakery next to the elementary school the scent wafted through the air into the courtyard and into the classrooms with dreams of panini and rolls cakes and sweets of all kinds. A handful of lira could get you a panettone during Christmastime. Hazelnut spreads jams and jellies baked fresh daily. I miss those innocent days when you had good bread to fill your stomach.

I took a break from the usual writing schedule over the Easter holidays. Kiddos had Good Friday through today off and will return to school tomorrow. Plenty of goodies, including chocolate bunnies and marshmallow Peeps and a turkey dinner. I'm seeing a lot of turkey sandwiches in my immediate future. It was nice to relax and be able to catch up with things. We went out to the park for the first time this season, since the weather was actually warm enough to do it. It's about a 15 minute drive just down the road from our new house. The usual Greenway was temporarily closed, but there are still many walking trails in Reedy Creek Park. We took a short walk to the lake near the playground. The kids were able to get fresh air and sunshine and actually enjoy being outside. Slowly but surely, we'll take longer and longer walks. I need to build up my stamina for it. Of course, Reedy Creek was quite popular, with hikers, picnickers and kids at the playground and the basketball court