What is it, on the morning after the club dance,
That hides your weary, little, washed-out face and straggling, uncurled coiffure from his critical eyes?
It is the generous coffee-pot, standing like a guardian angel between you and him!
Helen Rowland, from Coffee Poem: What Every Wife Knows
I didn’t reach six straight days of leaving the casita: I made it to four, but on day 5 I never left the casita, despite having to get the trash out and Dolores’ coming to clean the casita. In fact, I thought I’d overslept on Friday and hurriedly brushed my hair and put some clothes on, only to discover I had misread my watch by an hour and thought perhaps I had forgotten about a change in Daylight Savings Time. I was out of milk and so didn’t make tea or coffee and couldn’t make hot chocolate. Then Saturday (Day 6) I never made it out of my pajamas. Caffeine-deprived, I was headed straight for depression, helped by the fact that I didn’t like my Thursday hair cut all that much, which reinforced my need to stay in pajamas and keep the drapes closed. By Saturday night I was both caffeine- and vitamin D-deprived.
So Sunday I headed to Bo & Jens’ cafe. Early. Well, early for me. I made it by noon. I had two cafe lattes, a chocolate brownie, then went to the chocolate shop (Eduardo Villers) adjacent to their cafe and bought some trufas (truffles), the deepest, darkest chocolate, the most amargo (bittersweet) I could find. Then I went home, ate two of the truffles and later fixed myself a spot of tea.
Right now I believe there is nothing wrong with life except that my fingers can’t type as fast as my brain is trying to process thoughts.
I remember my mother liking four musical acts: Johnny Ray, Elvis Presley, Tony Bennett and the Ink Spots.