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

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.

Just sit back and watch be relaxed and soak up the atmosphere. All the goings on happen around you. You quickly ascertain the ones in the forefront the ones who hang back and the ones who are there but on the sidelines like you. Each player has their own way of asserting their presence. The movers and shakers and the ones in the shadow. What kind of company they keep and what kind do they avoid? Every little word, gesture song and dance The antics they get to the humor under the surface. The puzzle of who they are every little detail improvised and habitual tells who these people are. And you know more about them than perhaps they themselves know.

Wait for an opportunity the right chance You have to be patient you have to work hard But opportunity does not appear at the most convenient time or the most convenient place It often shows while the rest of life happens and perhaps in the middle of your other plans. So when I come to you to tell you the news: "This isn't the right time for the rest of us."

Easter bargains stock up on marshmallow chicks dipped in chocolate jelly beans gummies shaped like carrots. All of the treats the kids like and all of the ones for the adults. Mother's Day gifts milled soaps, perfume, roses my daughter looks at me gives me the side-eye and asks, "Is this supposed to be a hint?" Even if I get nothing from my children I can just munch on Easter candy.

Knowledge in books live by the numbers there's good and there's bad there's black and there's white. Wisdom in living live on the streets there's neutral and complicated there's many shades of grey. Ideal to have both live in two worlds there's law and some order there's chaos and fun. Too much of one it tips off the balance if one to too favored then all life will cease.

Locked out monochrome in the rain looking through the window as warm light reflects within. They sing karaoke take their turns on the stage and other applaud it's the effort that counts I softly smile and push down the sadness turn around and walk into the storm. It looks like a noir movie with the protagonist as they accept their lot... I tell you, it hurts.

So many grains of sand slip through as the moons turn and the tides rise and fall but there will always be more. As long as there is one pen that scratches words on paper no one will forget even if memories shimmer and fade. As long as there is one brush that captures color on canvas no one will deny even if voices are muted and soft. So many dreams in clouds form and dissipate in smoke and fires rage and burn but they will never be gone.

The world with pastel colors late spring, not quite summer the oils stain my hands as I capture it as best I can. Golden sun overhead wind stirs ripples through the lake bubbles from fish and frogs just lingering near the surface. A young family nearby with their impromptu picnic basket hikers on the Greenway nod as they pass each other on the right. The sounds of laughter on the breeze a pick-up game of soccer on the field suddenly becomes the Tournament with all ages represented. A moment in time a little slice of peace I want this to last forever and never return to the real world.

Mom called and asked again if I went to church today I told her I'm spending time with the kids and yet again I told her that they would not sit still for Mass because of their issues. Selective hearing all she heard was "No." and demanded to know why and she said not all churches treat my kids like outcasts. I should know that. I should know better. I didn't tell her that if she was worried about my immortal soul and going to heaven she should take care of her own. Instead I wished her a Happy Easter smiling through my tears and just returned to what really matters my family and making my kids happy no matter what others say.

Sitting in the back people watching seeing how people interact can be a fascinating pastime. Some talk with their hands animated in a language all their own as they get their points across. Others only stand and nod in agreement. A person's body reveals more than they expect their posture, eyes, demeanor betrays their inner thoughts. Sometimes trying to mingle is so overrated: be still, be quiet and look you can learn just by osmosis.

Magic rosin coat the strings with even strokes so that the bow can bring out the music within the varnished wood. Turn the pegs slightly, ever so slightly not too much to perfectly capture that elusive note in the series of harmonies. It is time sheet music at hand stage lights are low din of preparation dies down concertmaster stands and bows plays the single note you match your instrument to the rest of the world.

Sense of time you remember an event that seems just yesterday blink and twenty years have passed. Where did this grey hair come from? The kids are no longer toddlers his favorite store has closed he can't remember when. Mornings come earlier Christmases come sooner I remember when my parents were the same age as I am now. Hurtling towards eternity not growing old gracefully just wandering,stumbling counting the days until the final sun sets.

A hard pill to swallow when the facts are there in black and white shiver down my spine. That sense of disassociation of a hidden truth that you didn't want to acknowledge. Past events make sense realization going back years ten, twenty, thirty all come roaring back in force. Standing at a crossroads what to do now but it's all not just about me not anymore.

I miss the purr of kitty cats the wag of my dog's tail when he sees me coming the laugh of a good joke the cheer of victory after a good race the conversation over a good meal. the discussion of hopes and dreams for a brighter future the debate over good drinks and truly awful ones the happiness that family brings the concern when things go wrong the time when they were small look up to me and say "I love you, Mom."

Two bottles of ink one black, one gold sit alone on a rack discounted. Price gone down twice fancy labeling on the glass hues bright and dark| ready to be used. Maybe for invitations or calligraphy with a steady hand a drawing of sunset shades and crosshatches. Last chance, final clearance once they're gone, they're gone They're perfect for my project so I give them a home.

My life breaks apart on a daily basis: every character I write every subject I draw has a little part of me that has broken off to live on its own. immortalized but not by words on a stone plaque but an idea left behind on paper, on screen. I cannot stop it from happening the ones so different from me are still me just mirrored in a way. And in this case ideas last forever.

Dreams flit through my fingers like gossamer spider webs floating on the spring wind Torn from their moorings they drift over to land in faraway distant lands Perhaps they can catch the sunlight for a different place and a different time Some fall on rocky soil a handful on the sands of time still others drown in blue ocean The ones that remain are strong yet supple that bend with the breeze Will they weather the storm catch the droplets of morning dew shimmer and blaze in glory? And nothing lasts forever as they fade away to the ether of evening's shadow.

I miss the sound of ocean waves as they hiss along the shore the foam sparkles in the sun as it eddies around the rocks. I miss the sound of seagull's cry crabs skittering on boulders dark blue on the horizon clear azure around me to the bottom of the water. I miss the smell of a clam bake the laughter of good friends the whirr of a fishing pole the feel of warm sand the clear stars high above. I miss a simpler time when we could just watch the tide roll in and out and we were young and so much in love.

The temperature rises the grass sprouts into a carpet beneath my feet Tulips poke their leaves out of the newly turned soil. The sound of carpentry from the next door neighbor as the new addition of a sunroom takes shape at the back of their house a dream made manifest. A group of children playing ball in the next court they're having a pick up game basketball on one end a cricket pitch on the other. Our subdivision comes out of its winter slumber the parks and the pool come alive I sit on the porch and smile as they all go by.

Sometimes being blunt still cuts like a knife. "I'm being honest. I know you wouldn't want me to lie." That is quite true but how you phrase it can affect how your 'truth' is taken. You have no idea They said that you 'cannot read the room'. That you cannot put yourself in another's shoes. It is either right or wrong black or white and there is no such thing as levels of grey. It hurts to be on the receiving end of your 'honest truth'. You pride yourself on being direct, to the point but you never see the tears as you tear me apart analyze everything I've done 'wrong'.

 In times of trouble at least I have this: the need to write to express whatever lies in my heart the will to create and carve a little bit of sunshine within the dark clouds. the softness of heart to realize that these days will not last forever and after the rain the sun will shine again.

Jokes can be funny if it is shared by all involved if it is cute and witty and all in good fun. Nowadays there is little to laugh about with the world going to hell and people being cruel and mean spirited. A good knee-slapper can uplift the spirit strengthen bonds between us a shared story to remember We need to laugh again find the humor in life take it one day at a time one chuckle at a time