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

The holidays have started Christmas music loud and clear all the parking spaces filled relatives near and dear. Some of us are filled with hope that this spirit fills us with joy as we wrap up all the presents all the teddy bears and toys. But some of us look on with dread the ghosts of past and present weigh so much and memory of bad times heavy mixed with darkness and some such. The old year's end, the new one's nigh the day begins to grow dark although we try to start again the past still leaves its mark.

   Today we put up the Christmas tree A lifetime's worth of ornaments From travels past and life goes on so many ones I just forgot but there is one that hangs right there a simple globe of Mother Earth with "Peace" engraved in golden script is it achievable in the here and now? It's times like this that I wonder.

There once was a turkey named Frye who shouted "I don't want to die as somebody's dinner!" But the odds became thinner as September, October went by. And so our hero named Frye decided he wanted to fly. So he boarded a plane instead of the train his ordained fate to defy. He crisscrossed the world many times He took a boat up the Rhine went to France and Peru and then Timbuktu crossed the International Date Line. The dreaded day came and went He went to the post and sent a single postcard in words written large "THANKSGIVING CAN GET BENT!" He forgot a simple fact that holidays were still intact and so he was able to grace the Christmas table in a way he could never come back.

A beautiful mess There was a lot of effort but what was the point? At the end of the day no one agrees on how to fix problems. Everyone has their own opinions their own reactions their emotions their own priorities Parts of it are justified some of it is an axe to grind and a chip in their shoulder. What are we going to do about the source of the trouble and not just about the symptoms? Is it too much to handle too complicated to comprehend too expensive to implement and not expedient to their goals? Obscure the details frustrate the well-meaning deny the ugly statistics. Wrap it up in morality and point it at the enemy. At the end of the day, who will be the heroes and who are the enemies?

Your own traditions:. A new beginning a break from the usual every year might be the same a cozy restaurant a cabin in the mountains a seashore getaway Lights and garlands decorations and ornaments candles and music lots of visitors conversations togetherness a sense of connection. A quiet evening no chaos, no headaches no responsibilities, no stress enjoy your own company take a nap if you want no traveling stay at home. You have the choice to spend your time the way you want to without someone telling you "This is what we're doing" And you're trapped or bored. Your own life your own decisions on how to spend the holidays. Be it as loud or as quiet as you wish it.

Never cage a bird they have to be free to go where their instincts lead them. If their wings are clipped they will pine and die dreaming of freedom sweet freedom lost. Forced to sing forced to dance for the approval of others it wears a hood to keep an unnatural calm to stave panic at bay. Don't bite the hand that feeds you or claw the voice that raised you.

She had everything all planned out: doctor or lawyer Church every Sunday Living at home while going to college Marry a good man Have lots of grandchildren Live close by so she can visit whenever she wants. Had dreams of traveling to other places? "Take me with you! I want to see it too!" The perfect future one she could brag to all of her friends and the rest of the family the matriarch of them all and of course they would take care of her in her old age. So when they never call when her birthday rolls around and never drop by for milestones and holidays she curses their selfishness and wonders where she went wrong.

All I want is a quiet day where I can bask in the sunshine and free from my cares. The sound of ocean waves rolling as the tide comes in seagulls fighting over treats the laughter of children at play My notebook and me recording every sight and sound sketches in the margins to jog my memory. The smell of food from a nearby cafe loud music booms over the boardwalk. Try my hand at casting the line the other fishermen nod at me and hope for a good catch. For once in a lifetime able to put aside my worries say hello to my creative muse and set her free.

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Being a cheerleader can be so exhausting. It's hard to keep up a flagging spirit from going on a downward spiral. Last night I put my foot down. Looked her in the eye and said: "I'll always be here for you. I can help you if you need it But I can't do it alone You have to work at it too. "I can be supportive but if all you do is whine and complain there's not much I can do. "If you refuse to be helped then I cannot help you. If you don't take responsibility don't be surprised if you fail." There was the usual hemming and hawing but I could see the message sink in loud and clear. The only one who can do it is you. I can be your guide but when you need someone to put a foot in your arse... ...that someone will be me.

 Not used to being called "Ma'am" The cashier slips me the 'senior discounts'. The mail is marked "AARP: Real Possibilities". Children I once taught now have little ones of their own. Doctors tell me to watch my weight my cholesterol my sugar intake my blood pressure. Younger people are amazed because I "understood the assignment" and I know when things are 'sus'. Not a Boomer much younger, much younger though I get scoffed as one. You should see my face. I still have ideas and dreams and concerns about where life is going to take me. Wisewoman with experience still young in mind and heart. Don't count me out yet. I'm still here.

  What do you see with your wide stitched on eyes A perpetual smile on your stitched on snout and soft large ears on either side of your head? How many tears have fallen onto your once fluffy fur? How many miles have you walked on big awkward feet while being carried under a child's arm? How many times has a little hand pulled your orange striped tail? A not so little companion on the road of life sewn and repaired again and again washed and tumbled in the heat of the dryer. And how many years of loving smiles and squishy hugs for how many generations?

Terrible or terrific? You gotta be more specific Depends on the side you're on whether you've lost the battle or won. Fortunes made and fortunes lost take charge just like you are the boss! A mindset set upon the prize no cloud of doubt to hide your eyes. A sweeping change to set the tone and work yourself all to the bone to make your dream reality and plan for all eventuality. This will be solemnly remembered by everyone, enemy and kindred a bold new step into the unknown a time to reap what we have sown. And if it fails, at least we tried we set the blame on those who cried and wailed that it could not be done the spoils won't come whose efforts are none. Let's all join hands for a new tomorrow and bury the old with a wistful sorrow The future stretches like a starry sea and more for mine, no more for thee.

The Gift that keeps on giving a side effect of living you wake up with a scratchy throat your voice sounds like a demented goat. The kids brought home an unwelcome guest the kind that forces you to rest although you have do much to do and then the list gets longer too. Your nose swells up, your eyes are teary a single hour of work makes you weary the brain fog doesn't go away no matter how strong the coffee's today So readers, pardon this unwanted break Some lengthy words may be a bit late until this unwelcome guest is evicted my waking hours may be restricted.

Fight or flight what problem do I have to take care of now? Every time the phone rings I brace myself for whatever has happened. I steel myself for the next issue I have to address I have to take care of Even though my throat is scratchy and my mind is cloudy with the fog of fatigue I'm the only one the contact person all day, every day. Crisis after crisis and even when the clamoring voices grow silent and peace reigns once more I cannot relax for I know that the cycle repeats and that I have to face more and more alone. I am tired.

Last on the their list but first on mine. I listen to music that I compose myself They can march with me waltz with me shuffle with me or they can choose not to I cannot control their reaction but I can control mine. Turn the other cheek they always say I simply turn around and my face is in shadow they cannot read my expression which unsettles them to no end. My world is pieced together and might join theirs or might not. You are welcome to visit but remember that you are just that a visitor, not a homesteader.

Truly it felt more like November last night The bite of cold wind in trees leaves carpeting the sidewalk Sky dotted with stars so clear that you can see forever The glow of bonfires crackle of burning leaves sharp tang of apple cider The last dregs of summer suddenly up and left chill in the bones. Flannel shirts wool sweaters and scarves double layered socks. The earth goes to sleep tumultuous dreams ready for spring.

After four long days quiet reigns over the kingdom but the consequences are long lasting. Upstairs the king coughs a tickle in his throat unaffected by soothing drops at night his snores are loud. The children are relieved at the change of scenery all day outside the walls finally free from all their chores. The queen sits in her chair finally able to concentrate on matters at hand. The list has only grown longer. Life has returned to somewhat normal until the next time the calendar dictates a so-called rest.

I wish things were the way it used to be. Before all the gloom and doom. Stories and songs little life's joys poetry and art. Talk of places we want to go and dreams to share Spring on the horizon but weather the storms into summer's fury. Leaves fall dying winters are cold but warm by the hearth. Before the shadows encroach before the sun disappears before mist blinds our eyes Is the present worth living if the future promises nothing but heartache and pain? I would like to think that hope springs eternal to buoy flagging spirits. For if we give in to complete utter despair then we have already lost.

I remember my father at the mahjong table passing his hands over the smooth marble tiles marked with images of bamboo and balls and of the Four Directions North, South East, West Separating them into pairs of two and forming each side of a triangle. I looked over his shoulder taking in every strategy as he chose one tile to discard another forming rows of numbers pairs and long chains pon and ron chips and money changed hands Planning only went so far and then there was luck. Of course mother never approved because gambling went against her morality and her religion. But she couldn't stop him.

The gates are open into a wide open meadow where the grass is greener and the wind is cleaner. An invitation to walk through to the other side of sanity. Waters flow in the river fruit hang low from the trees A perfect blue sky with clouds even if the calendar is wrong. All it takes is one step to cross into the sunlight and out of the shadow. Leave the hatred behind See the world for what it could be all the possibilities unshackled by fear and despair.

Not so easy to pretend She reads what's posted on the tablet's screen. Her peers all talk they have a grasp on reality that defies their elder's expectations. She questions She seeks answers She wants solutions. The truth cannot be sugarcoated The lies will not be placated She has wise eyes. In a world of uncertainty She knows her own mind her own beliefs. Not so naive she is world weary She is sixteen.

I sat at the table idly twirling my chopsticks through a bowl of limp noodles when I heard commotion coming from my right. A young mother was there with a screaming infant in a baby stroller and a little boy pulling at her sleeve for attention. I remember those years with three little ones in tow in the space of five years bone tired and just existing just taking it from day to day. And I think to myself oh my dear, what have you gotten yourself into? These days seem so long but the don't last forever. I wonder what kind of world these children will inherit what kind of place will they have in fifteen, twenty years what will we leave them?

At one point it was okay to pretend that everything was going to be all right. The blinders have been lifted things are real. Reality has hit and history has repeated. I see a possible bonfire my kids' futures suddenly turn to ash and slip through my fingers but I refuse to give up I refuse to give in But I will not curl up and die. There are still good people in this world We need to stick together. The dawn will rise once more.

Three in the morning too late to sleep, lie there or will you get up? So many worries what will happen tomorrow? Will things be all right? It all feels for naught when all you see are dark clouds. Brace for the sunshine. Look out the window And the world is still asleep And all is quiet. Then the sky is born Rosy pink light in the East Chase all the fear away. The impact you make might not be felt for a while. Keep doing good things.

The Spirit is Willing but the Hands won't work So many ideas put on hold. Playing scenarios in my head black and white, like a noir film forgotten. Heating pads like oven mitts I hold a steaming cup of chai between frozen fingers Pencils lay unused the Muse cries out for attention I tell Her to wait. Ink runs dry dust collects on the letters that need to be answered. Thoughts chase in circles Needing to write, write, write but fingers cry out for rest. Tender Loving Care and the knowledge that the Body just knows what's best.

The first of November the morning is already colorless and grey It's like flipping a switch suddenly winter has already gained a foothold. There is one thing that shatters the illusion it's still seventy degrees Hardly crisp brisk weather don't need the sweaters or the heavy jackets yet. A month and a half until Christmas chimes in but the weather is like spring. I stand on the porch the winds are picking up but it hardly feels like autumn. It's contradictory makes me wonder how the world is changing.