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

Can't say no cannot refuse they've been so nice to me everyone says how lucky I am to have them in my life. I smile and nod outwardly agree but inside I am screaming my voice is stifled every idea every want taken and given dominated by what they think is best I have more than most Little struggle, much harmony that's what it looks from the outside but behind closed doors my body is a marionette and they pull the strings my mind is encased programmed to do their will.

The Muse perched on my shoulder She gave me a gentle nudge: "Take a break you are very tired life has been hectic Take this time to refresh and refocus You cannot write when the well has run dry." In some ways, she is right as much as I try the words would not come. "Do not force it it will come out wrong stilted and flavorless this is not you. These are not your words this is not your melody." I've ignored her advice before much to my detriment. Exhaustion caught up and smothered my voice. So now I will listen and curl up and hibernate interpret my blissful dreams and new ideas on paper.

Return triumphant he wears an apron that says "Kiss the Cook" meat seasoned to perfection sun shines brightly outside he whistles on the patio keeps a watchful eye on the charcoal and the hot flames below He's not the only one the neighbors come out of hibernation it's one huge party of who can master the subtle art of cooking with fire.

This balance is delicate Too much of one thing and the scales are tipped. This will make you better but there is a very slight change very very very slight that something else will go wrong. It is a challenge to manipulate the weights so you will not be crushed on one end or the other. What is one more spinning plate when there are fifty or more and you rush around trying to keep none of them from falling. The effort tires you and all compliment your skill but leave you to do it all alone.

A wounded animal is skittish around a gentle hand extended in friendship. They know better than to fall for that trick again. Experience is a bitter draft and pain is a harsh teacher. It takes a long time and much patience to coax a smile or a loving nod from one who is used to being betrayed then ignored.

Deep dive into facts Share them with anyone who is around to listen. They marvel at how smart you are. They wonder if you have any friends. See all angles of a problem talk about this solution or that solution They see how tactical you are. They wonder if you think of anything else. "Do I talk too much? Am I too much? I shouldn't overshare." They tell you you're fine. They wonder if you'll ever catch a clue.

Throw paint on the walls and see what sticks improvise a rhythm a snippet catches your ear. Arrange random shapes a subject takes form From nothing comes art an idea just lingers until you reach out and hold it closely. It has no name until you give it one. It takes a life on its own perhaps it evolves in a way unexpected: do you let it breathe twist and turn its own way or do you halt its progress?

Sorry isn't sorry when it's apologizing for your own inconvenience: "I'm sorry it's been a waste of time (for me and not for you)." Remorse isn't remorse when it's not your soul that has been ripped apart: "I'm sorry for what I did (because I got caught)." Sadness isn't sadness when it's just crocodile tears and it's for show: "I'm sorry for your loss (though I think it's good riddance)."

We fell out of teatime No more quiet afternoon of drinks and snacks As the seasons turned and the shadows grew long and the leaves went from brown to green again. No more plastic kettles and little teacups on saucers and the parrot puppet asking for more lumps of sugar or the penguin stealing chocolate chips from the yellow beaked toucan. Hot tea is so posh Iced tea from Daddy's pitcher in a summer's day biscuits and gravy instead of biscuits and sandwiches childhood put away Mum's teacup stands alone.

Soft baked cookies smell fills the kitchen peanut butter and coconut gingerbread and lemon chocolate chip cakes and croissants gumdrops and brittle bowls pile up in the sink a tang of burnt edges powdered sugar like ground up snowflakes drifting on currents from the air conditioner and catch grains on the tongue. Gift boxes filled bundles set to go can't wait to see all the smiles and the joy the warmth and the rumble of tummies waiting to be filled with sweets from the sweet.

This can be better Analyze from start to finish Examine every detail with a fine tooth comb Rip it apart to the foundations out of a sense of love because you care. It does not reflect what you feel is the best for its survival. This part is good but, but, but it still has flaws it's not perfect for your own aesthetics If they had done this the way I would do it it would be perfect. Tell everyone what you'd do if you would do in the creator's place. Find those who agree with you Spread your ideas why this idea isn't perfect Nothing stands up to the test of time. Why do people like this in the first place when it is so wrong? The sense of love and the sense of care has turned into a sense of hate.

Look into the mirror Do the rituals speak the incantations See who stares back. Some transformations are only skin deep hair color, eye color face putty, padding in cheeks. Others stretch deeper permeate the soul become a different character leave the normal behind. How long can you keep it up? This charade, this facade Just for a night on the stage or for a stretch of eternity?

Tranquility Peace all around you sound of running water breeze stirring leaves thunder of heaven's doors soul is at rest no stormy seas ahead all is right with the world Patience watch as the nightbloom unfolds slowly ever so slowly the baby takes her first steps unsteady but soon with purpose a musician builds a repertoire from constant practice. Nothing is perfect from the start. Clarity All in sharp focus plan broken down in stages First one then two then three the path before you unhindered proceeding with confidence with no distractions towards your ultimate goal.

Trending downwards down to rock bottom the bar is set so low look above the light has disappeared a murky darkness surrounds and permeates the skies and ground The pits of despair so described throughout the ages never thought it would appear here for real no sound, not even the howl of wind from an evil demon overlord. It would be easy to just withdraw and watch the world burn in a wave of apathy and a blanket of hopelessness. But that would be handing all of existence on a silver platter. If not for yourself then for the ones who come after. The souls not yet born the songs not yet sung For a single sliver of dawn can lift up their hopes for tomorrow.

Flowery speech can't quite capture the feeling of a mundane life. You can only write so much about the cherry blossoms that drift on the breeze. Or the dust that needs to be swept from the kitchen floor every day. Or the laundry that must be picked up from the floor and thrown in the washer. The beauty in the ordinary can be hard to find if your thoughts are on the next task and the next. Then you try to wax poetic about the good things and the bad things of the world and words fail to come.

Every letter typed every word written a bit of emotion packed into each one. Straight from the heart the mind struggles to make ideas coherent complicated made simple. Some understand others shrug and move on but the lines impact a reader one way or another. If opinion say to agree even if your soul says no will your words reflect the truth that you feel?

The gleaming tower still needs a foundation that extends into the ground. That solid base supports what stretches up to the sky. What you see is white marble what you don't see is concrete strong and sure capable of holding up the weight of the wealth above. But what is it that you don't see? Hidden beneath your eyes and not fit for the public? Is it as sturdy as it needs to be? When was the last time anyone bothered to check it? For a structure is only as strong as its weakest link.

They have seen much The color of waves on a stormy sea now more white-cap foam than sixty years ago. Memories dance bright like the lights at the foot of a stage eventually go dim as the curtains close. What is now isn't what it used to be isn't what she remembers how much things have changed she doesn't recognize it. Hues once vivid have gone to grey shattered and cracked like pieces of a puzzle that no longer fit. Her story forgotten unless a kind soul wishes to help her recall the lessons of a lifetime to bring to the light.

Is that green blob a tree, a mountain a patch of grass? Narrow your eyes and use your imagination. A drop of azure water a hint of cerulean sky and mirror of ice what can this be? Anything you want it. Yellow and orange a roaring campfire or the last bit of sunset perhaps a bowl of fruit what should it be? A bit of uncertainty is unsettling for sure. Nothing is explained nothing is crystal clear you interpret for yourself.

I remember when this book this song this film first came out. How can it be thirty years already? Time passes so slowly when you are young and you are impatient for it to hurry up so you can do all the things that the adults do without any restrictions. Then you get there school, job, family the seasons turn one by one summer to winter then summer again too busy to notice. One day you realize you aren't young anymore and you remember when your parents and elders were your age now how can that be what happened to your life?

Clickity clack the dice hit the table fate chooses whether or not you succeed or if you live or die Do you think that the Gods sit high above and play tabletop role playing games move all their miniatures on a cosmic graph board? Who among them is the Game Master? Or does it change on a whim? One day it's Fate and the next day it's Whimsy? Look at your stat sheet and make sure you level up and pick up better gear as you go from quest to quest in the Game of Life.

 I. Can you imagine rainbows at your fingertips cool rain on your skin no ash falling on your brow no blood dripping from your hands? II. Dawn shows its promise golden light streams from the East Birds sing their praises and their hope begins anew maybe today things will change. III. They are supplicants pray that all will turn out well while their fellow man revels in extravagance they wonder why words don't work. IV. Afternoon wanes low and dusk begins to approach sun sets like always bloody red on horizon shadows loom between the trees V. You sigh and then smile as the birds all fall silent everything the same yet you still cling to the hope that the dawn comes again.

Fire, Wood, Water Metal and Earth Wu Xing, Five Elements Each one affects the other For good or for ill. Too much of one upsets the balance and all must be in harmony. Process and change nothing ever stays the same it is the essence of the elements a stick is just a stick a rock is just a rock Wood is the essence of life Earth the stable foundation. Where is air? Fire, Earth, Air, Water, Metal Air surrounds us It need not be said The essence of being in all living things is not limited to just one physical form! All five plus the one encompassing the Spirit, the Soul It will still be there when all is long to dust that spark of existence will carry us on that drive to live will carry us through.

How many words does it take to paint a vision for you? Short, sharp, economical or long, flowing text? Which do you prefer? And how much reality are you willing to accept in one siting? Lies don't have to be lyrical truth doesn't have to curt honeyed words have the same effect as ones that cut to the bone. So tell me what you can handle and what you can understand for life has no patience for do-overs.

Learn the rules so you know how to break them. Chiaroscuro to give form to abstract color. It is the norm when suddenly it isn't. A turn of phrase that isn't grammatically correct. It's so consistent until you find the one time that makes you pause and have to think. They know what you like the tried and true it should be a success its failure raises questions. Times change, norms adjust what works then doesn't work now What is reviled is suddenly revered cast up or down at the speed of life. Consistency is good yet if you stagnate what you create will not reflect your very soul.

A humble workshop where creativity lives Quiet and private tucked in the shadows of a Parisian alleyway or perhaps within view of the Bow Bells in London. The painter does yet another study applying the imprimatura and pulling out the lights out of the darks giving form to the formless and shape to the shapeless how many values black and white with warm grey and dark grey or even more than that? A sculptor finds life in marble chisels away the excess and what remains is the core of the stone's meaning. A potter shapes curves and ridges with their hands as the wheel goes round and round slower then faster then sets them to find strength in the fires of the kiln. Time hardly passes here but techniques become new as they are employed with the old.

Not quite queasy but you know that something just doesn't feel right. Head hurts just enough to be annoying but you can push through it. Am I sick or am I just tired? Or am I sick AND tired? It's hard to tell the difference anymore. What I need is a tropical paradise vacation waves along the beach where the palm trees sway. What I really need is a few days of sleep a long luxurious bath in that order.