The Ritual of Coffee, Revealed
Oct. 14th, 2022 05:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsThere’s nothing special about The Ritual of Coffee. It’s just a ritual, a time of focus before the meds kick in. I don’t cast a circle or anything, although I do light candles. I like working by candlelight in the winter hours.
When I wake up, usually without the alarm, sometime shortly before six, I get out of bed and walk to the kitchen and turn on the kettle, which I filled the night before. I go back to the bathroom and light a candle. My clothes, which I also laid out the night before, are hanging on a butler hook on the inside door, and I do my business and get dressed, take my meds. I try to put my socks on balancing on one foot, just to test my balance. I snuff out the candle.
I go back out and the kettle is almost ready. I turn on a small overhead lamp under the cupboard to see what I’m doing. I take out a hand grinder, measure two scoops of coffee, take out a coffee mug and my big travel mug. The coffee I’ve come to love most is Vashon Island Roasterie, Medium Roast. I grind the coffee in a calm, measured way, turning the handle until it spins smoothly. I put it into the french press and by now the kettle is done so I fill the press one-quarter full. I set a timer for four minutes.
In that first minute, I make a circuit of the kitchen and feed the cats. Then I return to the counter by the kettle and fill the french press the rest of the way, gently breaking up the bloom. I use the remaining water to pre-heat the mugs.
At about forty seconds remaining I pour out the mugs and put in a teaspoon of sugar, each. Just before the alarm hits zero I stop it– don’t want it going off and waking Omaha, after all. Then I put the filter on the French press and slowly, gently, “with the weight of one hand,” press it down. Then I pour it out into the coffee mug and the travel mug. I add a shotglass of 2% milk to each and cap the travel mug.
Then I go outside on the back porch and sit for 15 minutes if the rain will let me, sipping my coffee and looking at my schedule for the day. I drink about half of it. Then I go back inside and make breakfast. If it’s raining, I sit at the kitchen table and look out the glass doors leading to the porch.
That’s it. No casting circles or knives, but it’s a centering ritual that orients me toward being awake, is a genuine pleasure that I can take, a time when the noösphere is almost empty, everyone is mostly asleep, and I can have a moment of soulful quietude and prepare for my day.
When I wake up, usually without the alarm, sometime shortly before six, I get out of bed and walk to the kitchen and turn on the kettle, which I filled the night before. I go back to the bathroom and light a candle. My clothes, which I also laid out the night before, are hanging on a butler hook on the inside door, and I do my business and get dressed, take my meds. I try to put my socks on balancing on one foot, just to test my balance. I snuff out the candle.
I go back out and the kettle is almost ready. I turn on a small overhead lamp under the cupboard to see what I’m doing. I take out a hand grinder, measure two scoops of coffee, take out a coffee mug and my big travel mug. The coffee I’ve come to love most is Vashon Island Roasterie, Medium Roast. I grind the coffee in a calm, measured way, turning the handle until it spins smoothly. I put it into the french press and by now the kettle is done so I fill the press one-quarter full. I set a timer for four minutes.
In that first minute, I make a circuit of the kitchen and feed the cats. Then I return to the counter by the kettle and fill the french press the rest of the way, gently breaking up the bloom. I use the remaining water to pre-heat the mugs.
At about forty seconds remaining I pour out the mugs and put in a teaspoon of sugar, each. Just before the alarm hits zero I stop it– don’t want it going off and waking Omaha, after all. Then I put the filter on the French press and slowly, gently, “with the weight of one hand,” press it down. Then I pour it out into the coffee mug and the travel mug. I add a shotglass of 2% milk to each and cap the travel mug.
Then I go outside on the back porch and sit for 15 minutes if the rain will let me, sipping my coffee and looking at my schedule for the day. I drink about half of it. Then I go back inside and make breakfast. If it’s raining, I sit at the kitchen table and look out the glass doors leading to the porch.
That’s it. No casting circles or knives, but it’s a centering ritual that orients me toward being awake, is a genuine pleasure that I can take, a time when the noösphere is almost empty, everyone is mostly asleep, and I can have a moment of soulful quietude and prepare for my day.
