Coffee Ceases Time

The dirty gray kettle rattled as steam billowed out in a high pitched whistle. The freshly ground coffee rests discretely at the bottom of a press pot. Two chipped mugs stand nearby. I break away from the radio show to cease the shuttering kettle and commence the brewing. The water spilled onto the grounds, frothing and foaming violently, as the coffee bleeds into the water. I fill up the empty mugs with hot water to fight against the cool basement air.

Winter has settled in and we are bundled up, listening to our favorite radio show. My hands are tired and stiff from the biting cold and I want to settle in next to a campfire and stare into the depth of its soul. I envisioned the snow falling at my back and the smoke rising up, flirting with the snowflakes. The whiff of coffee stunned me back to the cold and I brought the press pot over to the table. The air was arthritic with cold and the mugs warm my slow fingers.

We are poor—I am unemployed and my wife brings home less than $900 a month. We save pennies by bundling up and avoiding our heater. It burns expensive oil. After several minutes, I turn up from my book and plunge the press down into the dark, thick coffee. I pour one mug full and pass it over the table to my wife who knits and hums along to the radio.

This particular show is a time when we can settle in with one another and enjoy hearing the music we don't have. I fill the remaining mug with coffee and set the press down on the table. Wrapping each finger around the mug I grasp it smoothly—I cherish each piping steaming sip. The bitter and sharp coffee warms from the inside. The music dancing with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the small white kitchen. We sit at table—her knitting, me reading—drinking coffee.

Our weekend ritual had organically grown out of love for music, coffee, each other, and simplicity. The kettle slowly winds down its wheezing and sputters of whistles as the burner cools down. As I sip the honed coffee, I dream of warmth and the campfire returns to my mind. I see the flames licking the snowflakes, melting them instantly. The darkness, the chill of the night seem far away as the fire dances.

The moment seems to get lost in time. Or time stops, finally. I dissolve into the now and enjoy every bit of it. The coffee. The thoughts. The music. The company. It all comes together. The static of the radio seems to float somewhere in my conscience as I absorb the hubbub and caffeine. The steady sips set the tempo of the morning. And it may be snowing, it may be freezing, it may be raining or the sun may be shining, but right now, time has ceased to exist and this moment it is all I have.