A rainy morning, a cloudy day out of my window. There’s a wonder of what the rest of the day could bring. Not too much of wonder by the time I pour the coffee in the Mickey Mouse cup. It feels like a lazy day, maybe a minute or two to write a few lines in a poem or a thoughtful ramble on a notepad. Then, of course, there is always you. I’ll share my cup of Joe with you, this morning. Happy day on the CoffeeMystery. – Tu Bears
Coffee Mystery Rise and Shine – Sultry roast with a bit of chicory, New Orleans style, Grandma Jann would say. That morsel of southern runs through my bones wakes me up early every day. Sometimes it draws blood, bruises my heart, yet, mostly it persuades sparkles, enthusiasm, flames, and pizzazz. The nutty flavor of chicory in my coffee inspires me to see dynamism in my surroundings. – Tu Bears
An ordinary Mr. Coffee drip thru black steaming liquid in my mug feels like a jumpstart to the day. Could be the brain’s reward center perked up to the caffeine or I’m just downright old fashioned. My Aunt Lela always had Mr. Coffee on her kitchen counter. She said, “They were cheap & they lasted several years & the coffee tasted exactly like camping coffee.” I would say back, “You can’t beat that.” Really, the trees make life happen. – Tu Bears
Along the way, early on in life, I fell in love with coffee. I’ve always been a morning kinda girl. The women in my family started the coffee brewing in the dark, before daylight parts the land from the sky. Before my eyes were opened and I peeled the covers off of my head, a rich fragrance of medium roast surrounded my senses.
It is true, I was passionately ready for my first taste of grandmother’s coffee. On the backside of her kitchen table was a short bench exactly the right height for an 8-year-old to sit up even with an adult on a regular chair.
Grandma’s stove-top percolator was like what we call in today’s world, a metal camping coffee pot. It bubbled a soft, hurried sound and hissed rich flavored steam from its spout. Her skilled hands poured her round mug almost full of the dark liquid and gently tipped the pot, slowly dripping a tiny bit of coffee and nearly filled the remainder of my cup with hot cocoa.
There we were, the two of us, my grandmother and my 8-year old grown-up self, with our full-bodied black, hot cups and whispered conversation. We talked about our dreams or what happened the day before, chatting and giggling softly in our quiet space of kitchen table and our perfect cups of coffee.
Clem Onjeghuo on UpsplashIn my teenage years, my mother and her cigarette smoking, coffee drinking 1950 modern housewives drank Maxwell House from their electric 12 cup percolators. They got together after the husbands went off to work and the kids left for school. Before noon they had filled the ashtray in the middle of the kitchen table and drank at least 3 pots of coffee. If I could prove I was sick enough to miss a day of school, I would be privy to some pretty hot, scandalous hearsay. The full-featured aroma of coffee and tobacco were the two most adult things I carried into my early 20’s. At least, I did quit smoking at 25 but, I’m still a big fan of coffee.
Many lovely mornings of my life I have spent with an exquisite cup of coffee with my partner in our purple chairs on the front porch of our little home that faces the east watching the light change as Grandfather Sunrises. Both of us in deep reflective peace as we begin our gratitude prayers.
A few years ago I was visiting my relatives in Santa Cruz. Nick told me that he had an espresso machine and would make me a great cup of espresso. The story on this new, very expensive espresso maker was that Nick’s cousin was going to put it in the trash because the cousin couldn’t figure out how it worked. Nick laughed his way to his car with this beautiful, brand-new, very expensive espresso maker and of course, he was smart enough to figure out how it worked.
He did make me a wonderful cup of dark, rich black espresso. I enjoyed the early morning light of his beautiful kitchen across the table in deep conversation with Nick and the hot liquid gold.
One of my weekly practices is to take my journal to a popular coffee house and write for an hour or so with a cappuccino or another specialty drink. The smells, flavors, and atmosphere can inspire a poem or a reflective journal entry.
About twice a week I meet one of my creative friends for a “think tank” with a cuppa and great conversations. It is always beneficial to hear what others are working on or to listen in on projects they are thinking about. And coffee is our sidekick.
I’ve made my morning Joe in a never quit Mr. Coffee maker, most of my adult life. I do love to grind my beans and generally switch up a dark roast from many popular brands. I often put a little foamed milk in my morning cup and sometimes a little pad of butter.
On any given day, you can find me at one of many local coffee places drinking a latte and talking about writing with my friends. Often you could catch a glimpse of me dashing in the quick drive-thru at Starbucks when I’m out and about.
Mid-afternoon, at home, I often heat water and slow drip pour-over a single mug of black coffee or I pull out the French Press with a slow push. Either method gives me a flavorful afternoon delight.
Nik MacMillan on UpsplashThe other day, I went to the dentist and had a funny conversation with Mae, the dental hygienist. She asked me what I was working on and I told her about my coffee fetish. Of course, once she began the work on my teeth, all I could do was listen. Mae began to tell me about her quest for a perfect cup of coffee. Mae has 3 busy daughters and early in the morning she hurries around getting them ready for school and herself ready for work. Her mother-in-law wanted to help out and bought Mae a really expensive, fancy, computerized coffee maker that claimed to create a perfect cup of coffee ready for her, first thing. Mae continued to tell me how fantastic this machine was.
“It grinds the beans, heats the water at exactly the right temperature to make a perfect cup of coffee while the beans are grinding. The coffee maker gently drops the exact right amount of ground coffee into the basket and the preheated water slowly drips in a circular motion around and through the ground up coffee. Then it drips the exactly perfect coffee into my to-go mug and in theory, I’m out the door and on the road with this perfectly hot cup of coffee.”
I’m there, in that chair with her hands busy cleaning my teeth, thinking “dang, I want one of these machines.”
“Wrong.” Mae explains as she removes the scaler from my mouth. “There are too many knobs and buttons and digital instructions and I can’t figure it out, nor do I have to take a class.”
“So, Mae, what is your perfect cup of coffee, then?”
She opened the bottom drawer across from the chair I’m sitting in and pulls out a jar of Instant Folgers. “These instructions I can understand.”
To my way of thinking, a perfect cup of coffee isn’t necessarily grown on a mountain with the exact right climate or an elemental roasted bean, whether dark, medium, or light. In my life of loving coffee, I’ve discovered a perfect cup of coffee depends on the company that sits with it. Certainly, leftover from my early days in Grandma’s kitchen is the full-bodied cup, the one that fits your hands and the soft, accepting listener with a heart of joy. The perfect cup of coffee has been my dearest companion on the journey with words in whispered conversations.
It has been a few months since I actually wrote a blog post, did a podcast, or a video and I wanted to say something about that. Writers of all kinds, whether they are posting every week or hiding in a corner thinking about writing. Poets, novelist, or number one best selling self-help authors – we all have insane demons to contend with.
I felt like if I could start writing about why I haven’t written anything for several weeks, I might get creative and actually write something. It’s not like I haven’t been thinking about what to write, I’ve got hundreds of topics, lots of rambling ideas, and even stirring passions.
It isn’t that I am worried about what you think or that I could fail. I’ve fallen on my face more times than I care to remember.
I could tell you, “my schedule is just too full” or “I’m in high demand.” I could say, “I’m wasting time, streaming ‘Scandal’. I am truly jealous of that Shonda Rhimes for her continuous prolific, award winning tv shows. There are 7 seasons with 124 episodes of “Scandal” and each one of those episodes leaves me clicking the button to watch the next one. Yes, I’m tormented that I wouldn’t even know where to start writing something that popular. It isn’t in my wheelhouse of life experiences.
Every week I have coffee with a my writing buds. We tramp around, over, under, and through, writing ideas, poetic righteousness, novel creativity, and blogging for a living.
Who are real writers, anyway? Often we compare writers to jazz musicians with comments like, “a person wouldn’t take a few sax lessons and put themselves on stage to play with someone like Oscar Peterson.” And on we go, “so, what makes us think we can write like Toni Morrison or Ernest Hemingway or Shonda Rhimes?”
Back for a second Caffe’ Americano or Caffe’ Breve and on we go. What makes me think I could write a creative blog post that might draw a few hundred followers or who would enjoy my poetry or tell their friends about one of my short stories?
Photo by Ohmky @ohmky2540 UpslashDo I even care? Yes, I care. Coffee cares. Writing for me is like breathing. Coffee is fresh air for me. Both Coffee and Writing are a must for me to stay alive. Is getting published why I write? Not exactly, but it is a great perk. What makes me think you notice if I show up here or don’t? I believe in you and I trust you are ready to “clap” for the post I’m dreaming up. Yes, I imagine you roaming the internet searching for something great to read.
Everyday, I try to read as many blogs as I can, usually 5. There are truly hundreds of amusing subjects and writers ranging in experience and credibility throwing out their opinions about an array of themes. I’m telling you, anything you might be intrigued by, there is a blog about it.
One of the bloggers I follow is Robert Greig. His blog is called “My life as a piece of string” I am fascinated with his meandering thoughts about his life and our surrounding world. His blog site is clean and the print looks typewritten. I find his perspective on life refreshing, straight forward, and often comical. https://meonomous.wordpress.com
Photo by Esther Tuttle @entradaphotography UpslashI enjoy following several bloggers on Medium, I myself write for Medium on occasions. What I love about Medium’s platform is the broad range of genres and writers to choose from. At the beginning of each blog is the title and author’s name and how many minutes it will take me to read the posting. Of course, the luxury of a search spy glass with millions of topics to choose from. I read that there were more than 8,000 writers currently publishing on Medium. Whatever you are interested in, you can find it on Medium. https://medium.com
Guess What? Shonda Rhimes has posted a few articles on Medium.
The point here, is that you are reading and/or writing and/or posting, whether or not I’m posting doesn’t really matter or does it? Sure it does! See you soon.
3940 Mayberry Drive – Location One
775.787.3307
For many years I have gathered myself with pen, paper, and most recently, a laptop in places where the coffee is great and people are kind. I use the muse of coffee to collect my thoughts and allow them to fall easily into a journal, across the keyboard and develop into stories, blog post, and wisdoms. Walden’s Coffeehouse sets the stage for good conversations and contemplative moments and a time to read great books.
The background noise is people converging around tables for meetings, stockpiling with friends to enjoy a latte’, espresso, or green tea and often for breakfast or lunch. The on going crowds represent local business collaborative groups, students with homework, friends catching up and many others sharing a meal. Walden’s Coffeehouse is a point of intersection for some, a think tank space for others, and a darn good place to have a superbly fresh meal.
Chef Michael, Mandy, and the Barone family continue to create comfortable spaces for the crowds of regulars and new customers to join the Walden’s community. The menu and daily specials entice us all to satisfy our cravings.
Breakfast and lunch are served all day, with several yummy choices. Vegetable Frittata special from Chef Michael’s creative venue or Avocado on Toast with bacon and poached eggs, my personal favorite.
1170 South Wells Ave. – location two
775.322.6100
Creative baristas love a challenge and are great at recommending their inventive mixtures. My standby is a Vanilla Latte’ and a few days ago, Barista Leah recommended I try it with oat milk with a little honey. “My, my.” It has now become my afternoon pick me up.
Walden’s uses a local coffee roaster, Glory Cloud and the La Spaziale Italian Espresso Machine creates the exactly perfect flavor for my taste. What often inspires my writing is their eclectic, decorative, colorful mugs. They are just right for wrapping your hands around them and sipping your treasured flavor.
Other aromatic, innovative pleasures are a hearty bowl of Turkey Chili, an Egg Sandwich Panni, and a very healthy Greek Salad. I often enjoy a BLT or Avocado Toast with homemade Hummus. Check out the menu and find your favorites: https://waldenscoffeehouse.com/menu/
Mother Earth’s all-inclusive nature is our greatest teacher, a terrific reminder to restore our faith in natural principles of universal cosmic creativity.
We have been working in our garden everyday this spring and I must say, it is quite beautiful. We noticed early on that we have not seen one bee. Last spring season, bees were all over our mint, lavender, salvia, and Echinacea. There were not any bees anywhere in the garden this spring. It was beginning to cause us great sadness. We heard about bees becoming endangered and have honestly been a bit worried about the seemingly disappearance of bees from our garden this year.
Our spring has turned into summer almost over night, so we have been getting up earlier to avoid the heat. Every morning, we begin our ritual of welcoming Grandfather Sun with gratitude for nature’s beautiful, thick, lush abundance. We are so blessed to enjoy our morning in the garden.
Five days ago, I posted “…..bring back the bees.” Many of my friends responded with positive affirmations that the bees are coming back. And of course, knowing how the universe operates, this morning while pulling weeds around the lavender plants, I noticed the hundreds of bees. The bees are back. We were doing the happy dance!
There is space for every living being on this planet to be, do, and have exactly what they need, want, and desire. Gratitude is the doorway to natural abundance. Affirmations are tools of discovering innate bounty. Every word we speak leads to our pathway of living naturally in our individual opulence. We have the ability to co-create a peacefully abundant world for all of us. Thank you all for the affirmative thoughts and prayers for our bees to come back.
Tu Bears
The home of our inner voice is a centering sweet essence of our truest self. I call it sweet because the voice is soft, kind, and gentle. For those of us who have built walls, armor around our natural soul to protect ourselves from an outside world of hatefulness, abuse, or misconceptions, it may take time to design a safe place to reach into as we get to know our guiding light. The many strategies we believed would safeguard our hearts have honestly distanced us from knowing our own wisdom, our own strength, our own self-love.
When we recognize these walls and habits we created a shield, so we think, to keep the agony away, we honestly become aware that our protection mechanisms have also morphed into our personal sufferings. Once we take a good look, stop beating ourselves up for not being what everyone else thought we should be, and cease hammering those around us for their ignorance of who we are, we begin to create a sacred space to hear our trusted voice.
The road inward is our truest path. It takes time alone, time in silence, and a willingness to peel back the layers we have constructed. No matter what the expectations were that gave us an impression we needed to hide our authentic self, no matter how many of those people are still in your life, it is time to forgive yourself and them, pardon the situation, exonerate your past behavior and take responsibility for your present moment and your future.
Speaking from a lifetime of experience, it takes diligent trust in your personal power, and consistency to overcome a deep-rooted habit of listening to the ego’s automatic protection pattern. The process begins with a decision, a desire to redefine who you think you are and a loving kindness for your journey. It can be done and you can do it.
COFFEEMYSTERY with Tu Bears 
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