Ritual

A simple poem for a simple day…

Wake. Decide to rise.
Contort around cats,
exit bed. Pee. Assemble
morning wardrobe:
T-shirt, jams, special
slippers, topped by
cardigan or flannel
(basement's cold).
Grab phone, glasses,
water. Walk quietly
to kitchen—wife still
sleeps. Begin making
coffee: short cup from
machine or one-cup
drip depending on time.
Feed cats, open side blinds.
Coffee in hand, head
downstairs. Confirm
number of beers, head
into study. Benny eagerly
dancing around my
ankles, awaiting moment
I sit in rose-colored
Queen Anne chair. He
starts his own ritual,
circling in back of the chair,
slinking 'round chair-leg, 
wall, bookcase until once 
again in front, promptly jumps
to footstool, then lap.
Protect myself with two
layers from kneading claws.
Benny settles. Sip coffee.
Reach for daily devotional 
guide: "Give us this day,..."

Hearing my wife rise 
directly above us, Benny
heads upstairs. I finish
contemplating, praying,
follow him up. Greet her,
re-greet Benny, head for
shower to start my day.

Ritual begins unraveling
at that point, threads from
worn fabric of every day
separating into this day's
possibilities. Peculiar how
day's end holds its own
ritual as if transiting into,
away from consciousness
demands ceremony.

73/100
100 poems in 100 days

The New Year (in the rearview mirror)

One of my favorite plants: an oak leaf hydrangea. We had several of these planted in our backyard to replace the one killed by the squirrels. It sat under our bird feeder, and the squirrels used it to attempt an ascent to said feeder. Though a hydrangea, the leaves resemble the shape of oak leaves and turn such glorious colors in the fall. January 2026.

My spiritual development received a boost, oddly enough, when my friend Dennis died in December and his passing was memorialized in mid-January. Every Sunday morning our choir rehearses in a small chapel off of our narthex, and in that chapel are lovely stained glass windows. We attempt to do more than sing; we attempt to listen to the words and the intent of the music so as to impart an inspiring message to the congregants. January 2026.

January (and February!) brought some pretty cold temps to North Carolina, and we warmed many a time to fires. An ‘illuminating’ moment with a friend informed me that I could be using the TWIGS IN MY YARD to start fires! I had laboriously been shaving slivers of tinder off of oak quarters, and the oak was running out. What a great life lesson! January 2026.

A spontaneous purchase from Rancho Gordo (please check it out if you like the taste of good legumes) led me to Christmas Lima beans. I cooked them on January 20th despite being in a fever from some weird viral thing that was neither Covid nor flu. When you soak the beans, you have to cook them. They found their way into a cabbage and bean soup, and more uses are planned. January 2026.

When the going gets cold, the cold get caffeinated: the morning ritual captured. Once in a while I use a more automated version (a Nespresso machine) but this is the normal routine. After being gifted this mug, I now have an accurate scale to tell me when I should stop letting the water drip through the coffee grounds. January 2026.

As always, cats know best. Hunker down and wait for spring. Benny might have thought he had the chair to himself (that’s him in the rear) but Charlie had other ideas. January 2026.

A Kona Konundrum

100% Kona coffee. Purchased in Maui, September 2024.

Our first full day on Maui consisted of settling in to a condo (“we need food” we realized). Then, we rendezvoused with one of my few cousins after more than 50 years. While spending the afternoon with them, we wandered an upscale mall. I spied a coffee shop and within, some ground Kona coffee. I needed coffee. I grabbed the package pictured above. At check-out the clerk said, “That will be forty-three dollars” and change. A mixture of shock and avoidance of embarrassment made me extend my credit card, tap the terminal, and commit to one of the most foolish purchases I’ve made in my life. You’ll note the package is only 7 ounces. As in barely-more-than-half-a-pound. Unfortunately, I can’t resist doing the math, and that’s more than $98/pound. Ouch.

I don’t like Kona coffee. I’ve had it off and on (mostly off) over 45 years of fine coffee drinking. I therefore didn’t think too much about buying something that purportedly was a lot less well-positioned on the ladder of quality. Because I absentmindedly left the package in my cousin’s car, I therefore needed coffee still. I purchased this:

Note–only 10% actual Kona coffee in this package. September 2024.

The pound above cost around $12-13. Same amount of ounces. Tasted…not quite as good, but really it wasn’t a three-fold difference. I felt stupid. And there you go.