5:30 a.m., and my husband coos at me, asking if I am awake. I am now, but barely. He tells me he is off to work, that he checked the fire downstairs, and that it will be fine until I wake up (until 7:30 a.m.). Cool. I set my alarm for 7:30 and head back into some delicious dream; I can’t remember anymore. No, I would not tell you, even if I could remember the dream)
And So It Begins
At 8, I wake up, look at my phone, and wonder why it did not go off. I get up, take my retainer off and put it in the Sonicare cleaner, put on some, oh so sexy, Buc-ee’s lounge pants and a thermal shirt, and head downstairs. Normal.
I get downstairs and bundle up the resident princess, Lola, in a heavy sweater and her winter coat and let her out. While she has her constitutional, I get her food ready, then the coffee. I ran out of clean bowls for her, so I checked the dishwasher and saw that it hadn’t been run.
I’d blame my husband, but obviously I didn’t run it either. So, that doesn’t work. I see a sink full of dishes and start loading the almost-full washer, brainstorming what to use for the dog’s food. I settle on a small, round, Pyrex storage bowl.
I put her food in the microwave, then turn to add kibble from the container on the counter. One scoop of kibble, a little probiotic, and I wait for the ding of the nuclear reactor, warming her Farmer’s Dog. I grab two stevia packets, open them, and stop just short of pouring the granules onto her food. Crazy, I know.
Omens
This morning, though, I wish that was the only reason to wait until I have had the elixir of life. I look for my coffee cup and see I didn’t wash it yesterday either. Put a pin in that. I’ll come back to this.
I love a sink full of dishes in the morning. (Not really). I go to start rinsing and loading the machine. Once I have no more options in that Tetris game, I close the door. I then hit the switch to turn the disposal on to drain the water that accumulated from rinsing, and I feel a flood of cold water hit my feet.
Lola, bless her heart, stares at me like, “That’s a nice puddle, Mom. Where’s my breakfast!” I get her situated, grab old towels, and drop them on the floor to soak up Lake Erie.
I remember I need to check on the fire, so I go downstairs to look. It is out. Great! I go to the insert, open the door, and feel the heat in the firebox. That’s great because I do not have luck heating the stack when it is cold. I get to avoid that today.
I throw on two big logs, grab a little starter nest, and place them where they will do the most good in starting the fire. Then I grab this amazing lighter that laser-points the fire into a very intense, torch-like flame, push the child-proof apparatus to ignite it, and BAM!
I feel a searing pain in my hand. I drop the earned thing, realizing I was holding it backward. Don’t laugh, it looks just about the same on both ends. It’s just a cylinder.
Flowery Language
Eloquent and grammatically correct words fly out of my mouth as I pick that saber off the ground and give it another go, lighting the nests this time and not my skin. I close the door, look at my hand, and see the nice circular burn. It looks like a perfect ring, in my palm.
More Bad Omens
I head back upstairs to the kitchen and decide to prep my coffee. But I realize I have to wash my cup and the mesh filter, and I have no kitchen sink. I don’t know where the water came from, so I can’t use either side.
I have to do the ugly, wash them out in the powder room sink. (powder room=bathroom)
I don’t know about you, but that skeeves (grosses) me out. Having anything from the kitchen in the bathroom creeps me out. But I am a desperate woman.
Not desperate enough to get dressed and shlep to the 7Brew, up the street, and in ten-degree weather. NOPE. So I do it. I wash my stuff in the bathroom sink.
I am ready. I add the coffee to the reusable filter (see I am, green), pour water in the reservoir, and hit the button to wait for the magic. I decide to check on the fire.
Read as if you are a caveman: “I, woman, make fire. Fire, good.”
And I now head back upstairs to text my hubby about the disposal, my dishwasher/sink full of dishes fetish, and my cavewoman prowess.
I’ve Been Shot!
That takes me a few minutes of conversation time. But then I realize I haven’t heard the music to my ears. The coffee brewer’s ding, telling me that today it still loves me enough to make my rocket fuel.
I traipse back to the kitchen and, wait, there’s no light. The beautifully peaceful Mediterranean sea blue that lights up the sky, when you glance into its depths, has gone black. Black as in a black hole. Black as night, and the raven soaring the sky. Black as my heart has gone for my trusted friend, automatic drip, concoctor of my dreams, and blood life. Black. You get me, right?
Anyway, my mind is trying to decide between going back to bed, actually leaving my warm house, or letting death take me as I embrace my cup.
I decide to check on her, my coffee whore, and see if anything happened that I can diagnose. Then I notice the clock isn’t working either. Life is not worth living. She has died. She’s abandoned me to this world, destitute, and without a final sip of creamy goodness as a farewell. But no, what’s this?
All Is Right in the Universe Again
Just then I see the plug and notice it’s not fully plugged in. I go to defibrillate her, push the plug all the way in, and a choir of angels sings.
Heaven. I think the skies opened up, and the heavens rejoiced. I pushed her button, not in the bad way, and the cerulean light of life glowed back at me.
All was right, in the universe again. Life could go on. The heavens closed, and the angels retreated, as my blood transfusion brewed to life. I thought about everything that happened this morning before 9 a.m., and a realization came to me. I had not had my coffee before my first chore today.
As I took my first, calming sip of adrenaline, I vowed never to do anything before coffee.
Herein lies all the proof you need that dangers lurk around every corner, waiting to attack you when you are not fully gassed up.
Boys and girls, coffee always first. The best life lesson I can share with you.
Please note, it’s now 4:30 p.m., and nothing else has gone wrong today. Empirically proving my hypothesis.
(Published on Vocal, January 2026)
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