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

The dam broke the rushing waters surged into the valley the force of years finally being set free. No one could hide no one could outrun the full fury of nature unleashed in an instant and Nature feels no guilt. Analyze the stones find fault in the building material in the very foundations the warning system was faulty there was simply no time. Everyone and no one is to blame. Others deal with the cleanup pick up the pieces let's look to the future. But we all know that in the grand scheme of things if you need to point a finger at the cause: it was the dam's fault.

Why can't the responsible adult play once in a while? Let them frolic in the meadow float down the river on a patched-up inner tube. Walk down the Boardwalk and devour ridiculous-sized hot dogs filled with cheese! Eat cotton candy without worrying about all the cavities! Run in the sprinklers and the fountains in front of the office buildings downtown! Laugh at the mime's antics until their bellies ache! Dance ring around the rosy until their heads spin with happiness! Pet all the dogs! Nap with all the cats! Echo all the parrots! Ride with the horses with the wind in their hair and a song in their hearts! Let them drop their burdens and be who they are for once in their lives!

We're doing the rounds here what's on your mind nothing is excluded nothing is sacred. Open your mind and don't cling to the same perhaps a new idea blossoms like a spring flower. The only block stopping you is your own set of stone walls Let them tumble down in a pile of hard rubble. You carry your baggage whether you want to or not dump it on the platform or let it drag you backwards A rarity to feel safe in a group of troublemakers life speeds along but you don't want to be left behind.

My dreams are held up by gossamer spiderwebs strong silk threads and they look fragile. But they are stronger than they seem. Suspended in air for years at a time it collects morning dew that dries up as the temperature rises. It takes more webbing to hold them in place even as the lair expands. They end up out of sight somewhere near the ceiling. All it takes is one spark one raging blaze that lasts only a second. It races along those strands and burns them away. Oh, I forgot those were there! As they land in my lap. I look at them in silence Old and cracked ancient and dried out. Now that I have them again what will I do with them? should I hang them up with new webs from old or can I finally see them in the light?

I wish I can write about floating cherry blossom petals carried by the spring wind the hiss of ocean foam on a peaceful beach on a tropical island. About the turn of seasons from winter to spring and from spring to summer how the fireflies dance between autumn trees. The fragility of life at the knife edge of death ah, I have a vision this is the meaning of existence at the end of the road. What is the sound of one mind dragging day to day living off sugar and caffeine dealing with life as it really is?

The pillar that holds the foundation ever reliable ever dependable. Through wind rain and hail lightning storms and deep snows Worn smooth with lucky touches on the way to work Early or late it will always be there Never erring and never complaining of the weight it carries. The young grow up and move on to their lives The old tell the stories of the one fixture in the past. But what will happen when the invisible cracks that run deep suddenly shatter apart?

It's a quiet life: He works all week at the computer What does he do to relax? Sit in front of the computer. Sometimes he falls asleep like an old man in his favorite chair headphones on his head blocking out wife, kids the rest of the world. Tiptoe around him don't make a sound No one does anything no one says anything he's in his element the master of the house I do not lie I describe the ennui of my life take care of all problems soothe the screaming children and show through words why fantasy is better than real life.

Rune-carver with your knife and chisel and your magical words on the tip of your tongue stone and bone leather and wood a talisman of protection a sword that craves blood Your curses are not taken for granted. Each part of the formula is a part of the whole no bit is useless and no shortcuts will do. Each stave has a meaning. More than just an artisan you are a mage with the power of life and death in your god-laded spells.

See pure white Not an inch of ground uncovered Over miles and miles With no end in sight. It's cold outside So bundle up before stepping out the door. And make sure you're wearing hat and gloves! Flurries dart past your eyes Over your head and cling to your clothes Under your coat to melt on your skin Rivulets soak through fabric Look, children playing outside Even dogs are paddling like otters Tears of joy crystallize in ice Terrible wonderful shrieks of fun Each minute a wonderful memory Racing heartbeats during play. When will the storm let up Or will it stretch out for days? Revel in the magic of it all Dally in forgotten childhood.

The snow falls softly softly with scarcely a whisper of wind and barely a touch upon the ground. Yet wonder fills brightly brightly with such a light of happiness and hardly a word of complaint. The child watches eagerly eagerly with bated breath of anticipation and carefully a sign of no school.

Every week the bite of the needle hoping to stave off the pain for a little while. It's better than sitting in a chair for hours while medicine flows through your veins. It's better than losing a day in a drugged stupor where sleep doesn't give you rest and family resents the loss of a Saturday. None of it is your fault just a body that is falling apart. But it's better than being dead I suppose.

The problem with making yourself essential: they like you for what you do and not who you are. Your worth is measured in convenience in time in efficiency and in coin. One disruption upends their entire world the whole operation grinds to a halt but the fault is never theirs. Even worse when you aren't there as an employee: when you're there on the bond of supposed love.

Not all is shiny and new with time all becomes more natural what it is meant to be. The storms overhead bring hail and high winds yet even in the dark clouds there is a hint of sun. The maelstrom swirls all round but you learn to stand fast they cannot uproot anything with a firm foundation. No one is in a vacuum nothing is left untouched but the strength of your resilience comes with the heart of experience.

They thrive in chaos One well-placed word one half-true fact They let the knives fly The truth is flexible and it is not completely a lie. It all depends on a certain point of view. All from a seemingly benign sense of propriety: "I thought you'd want to know. So and so has been talking you might want to set the record straight. After all I don't want to see you get hurt." Then they sit back and watch the arrows land straight on their targets. An observer of justice. Nothing is ever their fault no one is ever their favorite Everyone is treated equally at least as far as they can see. Pitting friend against friend lover against lover royalty on the chessboard but they're careful to cover their own tracks as they enjoy the festivities.

A bouquet of flowers Roses, to be precise Smell so sweet in the air See how much he loves me! Each day is a new beginning Never dull or boring It bolsters my faith that love Can solve all problems! Never a doubt that In his heart of hearts Going to work and coming Home each night There is the eagerness over Several hours of not being Here with me, and an Addiction that is hard to shake Desperate to race home Even as his heart beats quickly! Day to day I am restless Early to bed and late to rise As the months go by There is a foreboding Heavy in the air tonight.

What is life when there is no thrill in living? What is death when there is no memory or legacy? What is art when there is no soul or human heart? What is culture when there is no innovation or exciting trends? It is mockery when it is a mere shadow of itself. It is tragedy when the very best fall by the wayside. It is a travesty when an achievement great is subsumed by ego. It is a pity when they know it could be better.

  I. Grey skies shine outside a chill still enters the bones It's February. II. A drone to my left hear fussy minute details I dream of big dreams III. Making the best of ashes that slip through my hands find no diamonds. IV. The world has moved on and all my feeble attempts drop in the ocean. V. Mortality looms blackened petals curl and burn return to ether. VI. Name is not spoken true death happens twice over ghost cries silently. VII. When spring comes again thorns surround roses petals remember.

She seems to have it all runs her business like clockwork words pour out of her fingertips with little effort at all. Her children adore her she takes them to the park talks to other mothers organizes play dates Her husband brings her roses they sit on a vase on her desk his handwritten note next to it: "Just thinking of you." A whiteboard with all of the dates appointments, birthdays, meetings Not every day is packed some have nothing at all others have SPA DAY in big letters. Bills are paid on time her doctor says she has perfect health walks around her neighborhood practices yoga and tai chi for her own peace of mind. I look at that other woman marvel at how she does it and keeps her sanity through it all. Then I shake my head and pick up laundry from the floor.

 I muse to myself that I'm in the wrong profession. I should've been a meteorologist.  Yesterday was seventy-seven degrees Today is thirty degrees cooler The thermometer is confused.  I feel the air pressure drop in my joints and in my muscles. My ring clings tighter to my finger as if pleading not to let go. It runs hot and cold I wish Nature would hurry and make up its mind.

The park has come alive: dogs sleep on the grass children run on the playground teens shoot hoops on the blacktop fishermen cast at the lake. The warm sun bears down crickets chirp merrily the breeze stir the budding trees a couple sits on the bench and watches the goings-on. A writer sits in a shelter records her impressions in a notebook as the painter stands on the shore easel and paints set up captures a jumping fish on canvas. It's springtime, for certain and the earth unfurls from its sleep person and wildlife alike stretches and breathes in the warm air. Difficult to realize that it's only February.

Clear Concise Comprehensive and yet impersonal imperfect impressive. Breaking it down into Elements and yet not seeing how any of them connect. The details do matter every single one given weight being heard and they change the narrative. But concentrate on the bigger picture see how much it really matters miss the beautiful forest for the old gnarled trees.

Do you believe in footsteps in the night? Voices caught midway in conversation an echo of times past The walls can speak the windows can see the cries of mothers the gasps of lovers Lights flicker drift in search of their beacon in a room no longer familiar. Cold fingers caress your cheek blow across your skin want to tell their story make sure justice is done Footsteps along a lonely path doomed to retrace steps over and over like a recording. Whether you acknowledge it spaces have witnessed and scenery will talk.

I. The smell of roses where oh where does it come from across time and space. II. Danger like a snake glimmering fangs quick to strike hits glimmering shield. III. She wanders in dreams this ethereal maiden calling out to me IV. Wolf howls at the moon and I long for his embrace eyes bright as the sun. V. Journey takes me far Every day I hear her voice sings me off to sleep. VI. My world falls apart pieces together at last I wait till he comes.

Wake up every day one of two paths: disappointed re-energized. Path One: wonder why I'm still here yet another day in Paradise that is Hell on Earth. Path Two: There are Things to Do and each day is a new adventure. They all say it's a matter of attitude One leads to dark places the other leads to fulfillment But in my experience both seem plausible one seems to be reality the other a fleeting fancy. Which one is the real one and which one is what I want it to be? I solve that every day.

She looks in the mirror blinks and she is an old woman when did that happen? She does not remember. Her thoughts drift back to his smile a bouquet of roses that are now wilted the petals scattered. Drink coffee stare out into the rain in the fog she hears the echoes of children playing. Snatches of music a waltz long forgotten but she hums the tune traces the steps on the wooden floor. She cherishes the good times gives no thought to the mistakes a young ingenue again the belle of the ball an opera in her mind.

Starting again is never easy But this time it's different. It's because I want to do this not because I have to do this. Endless recitals reminders to practice more because all the aunties ask and so Mom 'asks' for a song It was like a gilded songbird trotted out for a single moment only to be put away again to hear the accolades given to its preening owner. A bragging chip for social credit "You have such a talented daughter." I have to learn the scales correct finger positioning all the foundation that had been skipped or glossed to get faster results I am like a little child again but I start at the beginning and work my way forward.

Love affairs with imaginary characters a writer's dream. In olden days they'd call me dreamer lonely, heartsick, insane Their thoughts haunt me crying out to be heard I am only their chronicler. Unbound by modern rules magic and mystery abide by their own calculations. Each life is precious with their own backstory how can we ignore them? Alternate lives in alternate worlds separated by the thinnest of veils who says they are not alive?

Sixty two degrees The birds are confused Plants poke out from the dirt Is it time yet? Two weeks ago the thermometer sat at eighteen degrees. Step outside not needing the heavy coat the sun's warmth bright reflects off the windows in cheery shadows on the wooden floor. Soft wind blows stirs the still-bare branches couples walk as children ride their bikes and their laughter floats on the breeze. Maybe winter is over. Perhaps the earth takes a breath tries to thaw from bitter cold enjoys this quiet reprieve instead of going straight into blazing summer.