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The Morning Ritual

March 11, 2013
Aiden, My Adorable Kitty Cat

Okay, so if this cutie pie walked in, I’d be up in a heartbeat, coffee or no coffee.

I wasn’t going to get up, and no one was going to be able to make me.  My room was warm, my recumbent form under the comforter even warmer, and my pillow was night-pummeled into a perfect shape for my head.  In short, I was nestled, it was winter, and nothing short of a fluffy, adorable animal walking in cooing was going to entice me into joining the land of the living.  I was an adult, god damn it.  Adults can choose to sleep as late they want.  Adults are also allowed to wear pajamas with flowers on them.  This does not diminish adultness.  Nor does drooling slightly into one’s pillow.

I heard a pounding on my door.  A cheerful, no-nonsense voice accompanied the bangs on the wood.  He said those magic words that instantly made me want to get out of bed.

“Wake up, bitch!”

I suppose some context needs to be given.

Cody was a corn fed kid from Ohio.  He had thatch yellow hair, a short stature, light blue eyes, and a slightly mocking smile.  He thought of himself as a simple person, I thought of myself as complex.  He wanted to be normal, I wanted to be unique.  He had no desire to travel outside of the US, while I was mad for staying stateside so long.  He did not suffer fools lightly, while I pretty much made friends with every shop clerk I interacted with.  He knew who he wanted to be since he was too young to go to school, and I didn’t even know who I wanted to be after fifteen years in the educational system.  He called soda ‘pop’ and that drove me crazy.  We were roommates.

Cody also was a coffee freak.  He loved the stuff.  He read about coffee, experimented with coffee roasting times, bought an expensive burr grinder, tried filtered coffee, drip coffees, espressos… he was always happy to make anyone a cup, simply for the joy of brewing it the perfect amount of time and watching their faces light up as they sipped an extremely balanced cup of joe.   “It’s called bloom,” he confided in me once, as we watched a bubbly coffee layer form a meniscus on the top of the French press.  “It means the coffee grinds are very fresh.”

Cody was a morning person, and I most certainly was not.  But he pretty quickly figured out a carrot and stick method that was 90% effective at getting me out of bed when he wanted me to.  He would brew a perfect cup of coffee, setting a timer to mark brew time, and measuring its temperature with a thermometer.  Cody would then add about three spoonfuls of whole milk, which was the way I liked it.  (He had despaired, at that point, of ever convincing me that black coffee was the only true way to enjoy the beverage.)   He would sprinkle a little bit of raw sugar on top.  And then he would place it outside of my bedroom door.  Sometimes he’d leave a little note too, a poem, or drawing of my face before coffee (always very flattering, let me tell you), or simply write ‘Good Morning!’ in bold black letters.

He’d then knock on my door, and to belay the sweetness of his morning gift, shout, “Wake up, bitch!  Coffee!”  And I’d have to get up.  To let that coffee get cool before drinking it would be sacrilege, it would be like destroying art through the sin of laziness, it would be blasphemy.

And besides, it sure smelled good.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. March 12, 2013 1:21 PM

    I think that Cody needs to spend a couple of years at the Hotel Ayr Lane.

  2. March 14, 2013 7:19 PM

    For his benefit, or yours? 😛

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