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

Just when you think the ground beneath your feet has given up all its secrets: you find something new. Different techniques theories of how it works how it was constructed new ideas, new technologies. The old becomes current again cold cases dug up reassessed, reworked torn apart to fit the evidence. That is the beauty of it all that nothing remains static even after centuries or millennia it is every changing. What is considered fact a hundred years ago might not be correct the cycle begins again. This is how knowledge expands building on what comes before making room for future discoveries ever flexible, ever exciting.

I miss my dad's cooking the smell of food wafting from the kitchen roasts, barbeque, soups flaky buttery pastries although he can't eat them because of the sugar it doesn't stop him from being hospitable to everyone he knows. "Are you hungry?" He will drop everything to cook you a meal. He braved going to the store in a snowstorm to get ice cream during a craving. Experimenting with recipes and asking me to taste test them. The only reason to go home again but it's a good one. To see him truly happy in the kitchen entertaining, taking care of the ones who walk through his door. It kills me to know this doesn't happen as often as it should.

Narrow beneath my feet Can't go back, can only go forward eyes straight ahead. Only focused on survival one false step to plunge into the abyss far far below Too far on one side the whining and clamoring voices demanding a little piece of your sanity one little piece at a time You learn to give only part of your attention. If you give all of it they demand more and more until you have nothing left. Only by negotiating the chasm by guarding your self-worth. Shield your mind and remember the goal it's a dangerous road to keep your mental balance.

Cleaning up after you is like tidying up after a frat party to that I wasn't invited. When I ask for help you make a big deal out of it "notice me senpai" "what do you want, a medal?" All messes are automatically mine all complications are mine to blame because I take care of everything from your house to your kids. I can give you my opinion but unless it comes from someone else you don't hear it. I know why you keep me around: to do all the shit you don't want or can't do. And the only time you ever notice is when things don't get done: "why isn't she here?"

Do imaginary friends count? Those voices you hear in your head. The characters you see only in your mind and when you try to put them down on paper they become recalcitrant They have their own thoughts personalities their own quirks which you didn't assign to them. This is their story not yours not anymore. They will see it through to the bitter end through hell and high water but not according to your plan, no matter how hard you shepherd them onto the track. Are they still your friends or have they become your worst enemies?

Bend like the willow but do not break no matter how the wind rages it cannot destroy you. Plant your roots down deep let your resolve nourish you Look up to the sun let it guide your purpose. In every life, rain must fall to make the roses bloom even with its thorns silken petals bring joy. Soft and sweet melodies listen to the silence that linger between the notes they prolong the harmony. Do not mistake calm for passivity flexibility for indecision Other pursue the ephemeral but you will outlast and endure.

An exquisite feast delicious tastes sweet, sour, salty different areas of the tongue spicy or bland It's very much a personal matter. complementary colors red and green and white catching your interest displays drawing your attention to where it needs to be pleasing to the eye hot, cold, warm to the touch Some can tolerate how it feels better than others and some cannot abide how it slides down your throat it influences your brain. soft music playing to the ear to stimulate the appetite and lower your tension aid in digestion and brings all together: relax and enjoy.

Stack one block on top of another Large and small red and blue some rectangular others curved Construct walls roofs, towers arch towards the sky. Castles skyscrapers tree houses a bridge here a garden there animals cars and people it's almost alive if you can imagine it. Your very own land your private domain all made of plastic blocks boxy and unwieldy transformed by your hand and your thoughts old or young it doesn't matter It endures for years.

Paint with words try to describe how I feel Not very easy to start even more difficult with a limited palette. You can do much with the basics   Color theory complementary colors to make harmony. red and yellow make orange yellow and blue make green blue and red make purple black and white make gray. I have more than I think.     But I must plan this composition the shades, the tone, the light even the subject matter to make the painting pleasing to the eye.     From the underpainting to the final draft every brushstroke is stifled: for I need to ensure your sensibilities aren't offended.

Two become One Two sides of the same coin Why do you have to choose one over the other? Why is one so much better than the other? Nothing is static nothing lasts forever What comes up must come down. What lies low rises to new heights. Either you're good or you're bad you're a hero or a villain but a villain is a hero according to their own story. Rules are too narrow definitions are too brief History is set by the victors Truth can be set by the outlaws.

Yes, you can't see me your peripheral vision Just out of your sight Unease but you can't figure out where it comes from. Rage out of nowhere harsh words, angry thoughts evaporate when you leave Oh not all the time can't be predictable, after all some days are normal Pendulum swinging from one extreme to the other stay away, stay away Call your ghost hunters call your priests and holy men I laugh as they flail. Just out of your sight and my presence will haunt you smiling until you go mad.

I wake up alone forgotten But I'm not surprised. I'm numb. I look out the window at the blue blue sky like a bird from the bars of its cage. When I die don't give me an elaborate funeral don't pray for my soul burn me scatter me among the waves I won't be around to see it. I've given my life to others without any help or support or love from others In death at least give me this The world will keep turning without me Everyone will forget they say a person lives as long as their name is spoken. Don't say my name. Let me rest.

 Jisei are poems written near to the time of a poet's death. A farewell to the world and an insight into the attitudes of the time. Inspired by Japanese Death Poems: Written by Zen Monks and Haiku Poets on the Verge of Death by Yoel Hoffman I. The World here is thin a bit sideways and then up the lightest of steps. II. Roses bloom in summer tears petals like rain carpets the ground my soul smiles. III. Ocean's melody striving to hear a single beat of the deepest heart. Oh, I hear it now! IV. My darling pet leaps into my arms! I missed you so. V. Sometimes words are not necessary when all is already said and done. VI. Cast off winter and step into the warmth of newborn spring. VII. None other than the smile of an old friend. VIII. Witty thoughts fade the gods are laughing IX. Soft and sweet I touch harmony it ushers me to sleep. X. princeps tenuit caput Saluto auroram nihil timendum (head held high I salute the dawn Nothing to fear)

Tap the crystal ball predict what people would like Should I do this or that? Follow the crowd. See the numbers go up and down day by day, likes and dislikes. What will be popular with them? Will I get noticed? Those little arrows that go and down Tied to how much you like yourself. It's hard to break the chains. One eye on the others. What do they I have that I don't? Why can't I be seen? Be yourself, do what brings you joy. Easier said than done. It takes an inner strength Confidence in your words and hopes. And sometimes being at peace with yourself makes it all worth it.

Alone in the studio the paintbrush speaks the music swells the sound of the tumbler as rocks turn into jewels. The vase throws itself onto the potters' wheel the arrangement of flowers please the eye and the mind the smell of the food wafts from the kitchen and whets the appetite. Every stitch lovingly made every warp and weft in patterns. Pixels make people laugh and amaze others with their resolution. These are all reflections of the artist's mind heart and soul. Lovingly created and lovingly shared as an expression of creativity within.

Extend the olive branch Not in surrender but in peace time to rebuild time to reset together. The conflict is hard enough But what comes afterwards can be just as difficult It is naive to expect things to go back just the way they were. Life has changed it leaves an indelible mark not only on your body but on your very soul you cannot rest as easily just as you cannot trust. It will take time and effort on both sides to live in harmony years, decades perhaps centuries No quick and easy solution.

I have to believe that all of this is worth it. I have to have faith that events happen for a reason. That every decision you make splits the universe into realities. In the dimension next door I am happy content healthy. All the time that I spend improving my lot here influences whatever branches are connected there. All the trials and the heartaches the disappointments the abject sadness are stepping stones to a brighter future not just here but through the universe. The beacon brightens here and elsewhere. And when I die I see how my decisions no matter how minor affects so much unseen.

The vibrant colors of a civilization gone by hidden for centuries for thousands of years uncovered by careful hands. It reveals a way of life that was only preserved by the songs and stories from bards long ago. The images of relaxed parties peaceful home lives traders on foot the ordinary day to day not too different from the modern. All of these people lived breathed loved died and faced all sorts of challenges and triumphs like anyone else. No one can be certain what they thought or believed so why do some today hold them on a pedestal and assume their goals aligned with their own?

Object of affection or is it obsession? It's hard to tell does he really love me? Or am I just the latest one in a long line of broken troth. He promises me the world showers me with gifts. He appears at my home and woos me with sweet words. It's hard to say no when everyone insists I am so lucky. Perhaps I can salvage a sliver of hope. Perhaps I'll keep my head.

  Two strings dusty and unused for a very long time. Not a great quality they told me but it should suffice for someone who is just starting to play. What matters to me is that it is a connection to who has played before. The blood that runs in my veins the tunes that used to float through the air. It will take me years. It will take a lot of practice. "Headless chicken" screeching until I get the bowing and the fingering just right. But the joy is in the journey In the discovery and the challenge I hope my ancestors smile even if they might cringe as I take baby steps into perfection.