The prompt for today is:
I wrote in an earlier post about my absolute favorite part of the day, the magical hour of evening when the day begins to turn to night.
I suppose another part of my day that I really enjoy is my early morning coffee/journal time.
Anytime I turn to my journal to speak, or figure things out, or maybe just to record something important, I always get this familiar feeling of returning home. I think because for as long as I remember, writing has been my release. I remember using all kinds of notebooks for my writing...the five year diary full with lock and key, the prettily-decorated hardcover journals, and I even remember pounding away at my sisters fancy electronic type-writer before we got our first computer in the late 90's. Anytime I go to my journal, I feel as if I'm reconnecting with all those formal versions of myself.
Coffee is also an esoteric comfort to me. It's an atmospheric experience...the scent and shadows of a lighted candle, the bitter-sweet taste of coffee, I liken it to sad memories from a happy time...or maybe the other way around sometimes. My earliest childhood memories contain the boil of a coffeepot percolating in the kitchen of many long-ago homes. I remember my eight-year old self sneaking coffee under the watch of my late grandmother, who only smiled and gave me extra cream and vanilla wavers as little cakes for dipping. I suppose it's no surprise how drinking it, still to this day, gives me a comfortable and homey feeling. I feel as if, every morning, I drink with the ghosts and memories of my history.