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

Put it away for some period of time: days, weeks, months maybe years. Perhaps you forget about it perhaps not. When it returns to the light of day see it with brand new eyes. See new possibilities that weren't there before fresh ideas, other concepts branching out from the soil that needed to lay fallow to rest. Those tender offshoots may blossom in other places and take you elsewhere you did not expect.

Constantly changing the hues of the palette seem to mix in strange and unusual ways The wood warps and cracks paint seeps through the edges stain the deep set grooves in rainbow. You could trace the ages through splatters of cobalt and the era of styles through sprinkles of glitter. Memorialized in contrasts white swirled in dark to make it lighter russets and oranges shade into verdant swipes that may be leaves or maybe grass for spring flowers or dying falling petals. Any painter throws it away but it is a memorial or a testament to canvases gone by.

He sleeps in his chair Very much like his father did before him. Tiptoe around him don't make any loud noises he is resting They all hold their breath to not rouse the slumbering dragon to keep the peace. I refuse to be cowed I give him his space I grant him his peace. But while waiting for him I write my words and refuse to let the world pass me by.

I never asked for fame Never considered myself worthy for admiration. Shun the limelight keep to myself. Always stood on the sidelines let others have the credit and the glory. The years went by Unremarked, unnoticed the tall poppy needs to be knocked down. Some people have the luck and the contacts and the charisma to be successful. Opportunities pass by so I wouldn't rock the boat draw too much to myself make anyone feel threatened the status quo maintained then something snapped: I'm too old to put up with someone's petty insecurities. Now I listen to my Muse and encourage others out of their shells I'm not ashamed to show my enthusiasm and my zeal and my talents. The bright red poppy stands straight and tall.

Twenty two years ago was not expected but quite long awaited Never a doubt he stole my heart the first time I laid eyes on his tiny form. It's been a long road full of pitfalls and heartache but full of love and pride to see him carve his own way despite all the roadblocks life has thrown at him. He's a fighter. Quiet and reserved among those he doesn't know. Although he doesn't speak his smiles say plenty and he's expressive in his own way. Happy birthday, Son. Mum loves you.

I can't change circumstances beyond my control I can't make things better even though I want them to be. What do you want me to do? I can't change the nature of people who don't want to care. They say pick your battles then be upset when I do that. My sympathy only goes so far. I wasn't always a cold-hearted person my heart bled for whatever hurt you but your constant demands closed my ears and my heart. Suddenly I'm the insensitive one. I can only go so far bend over backwards so much before you ask the impossible to make you feel better. In your story, I'm the monster.