My alarm chimes approximately one minute and forty seconds after my husband’s, creating a moment of anticipation after waking as I know the second nudge is coming. Bowie-cat snuggles in the crook of my knee or between my legs, which makes it doubly hard to rouse myself.

Occasionally I feel a twinge of resentment as I push back the blanket and unsnuggle the cat, knowing my husband will linger in bed for some twenty more minutes – he who has no other responsibility in the mornings except to himself.

I scramble an egg and pour a bowl of cereal (always in the white bowl because it is the perfect size) and make my way through the dark house to wake my son.

He is ten, which means I will be fifty this year. Every morning I wake, another day has passed and I get closer and closer to the day I will leave him… all of them. It is something I simply don’t think about. Until I do.

I turn on the light and greet him as I was greeted by the tall buffet steward each morning on the cruise I took with my sister; “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!”. My son is never as entertained as my sister and I were. I think it’s my delivery. Or perhaps it’s the fact that my son and I are not on a cruise ship somewhere off the coast of Central America.

He moans and stretches, and I stare at this stranger; suddenly a pre-teen when only a year ago there was a boy. I dread the next few years a little, but I am comforted by the fact that my daughters survived their teen years, and we are still speaking to one another.

We make our way to the kitchen, my son shuffling and farting along as boys do.

***

After dropping my son at school, I begin my own routine to get ready to work. Rarely, this means I get back in bed with Bowie-cat for a while, but most days I put in my contacts and go to the kitchen to start my coffee. Some days I detour into the laundry room to start a load, or put wet things in the dryer, but today I went straight to the coffee maker.

I have a Keurig machine. It is the version that allows me to use my own coffee, and I enjoy the routine of choosing the right mug, placing the jars of ground coffee and raw sugar out on the counter… preparing my “mis en place”.

I never drank coffee before 2013. Now and then there was a grande mocha latte if I was on a road trip, but I didn’t keep coffee at home. I had never tasted any coffee that tasted good without the chocolate and whipped cream, and who has time to bother with that every day?? Coca-Cola worked just fine. In 2013 I tasted a cup of coffee roasted locally, and my coffee-drinking world changed. Basically, I became a coffee snob.

Three shakes of chai spice mix, two tsp of raw sugar scooped with a sweet little antique silver spoon, and the mug goes under the spout. A little half-and-half to lighten the brew, another silver spoon to stir, and I head to my office. It is a moment of zen for me… a little meditation time as I make my perfect cup. I believe it is similar to the tea ceremony of Japan – the intentional way that each step is performed makes it a soothing, mind-clearing experience. Of course, I have never seen a Japanese tea ceremony in person, and have certainly never performed one, so I am only speculating.

Good morning.