In An Instant

As I mentioned in a previous post, my daughter met up with a friend she doesn’t get to see very often. They met on the college campus last year, and the friend moved away to attend another campus. The best thing to come out of college, in my opinion, has been meeting this friend.

They stayed out late shooting pool, so her friend came home with her and crashed here. The following morning, her friend woke up and walked through the house looking for coffee. There’s no automatic brew here my love.

But I can make you a cup of coffee that’s memorable. I stood with her at the coffee bar and went through the choices. Chemex, a vessel of coffee, the French press, or a pour over. She was intrigued by the pour over and asked, “What’s a pour over?” This made my heart sing.

Bluebottle Coffee Dripper

I have a confession to make. I’d become really slack recently about taking the time to make a Chemex, or pour over for myself in the morning. I’d walk by the coffee bar, over to the tea cart and turn on the electric kettle for a cup of instant coffee. Within minutes I was sipping on a cup of rehydrated beans, sort of, and not enjoying it.

That’s just not me. I don’t do anything in an instant.

This morning I stood at the coffee bar, remembering the fascination of the friend and treated myself in the same manner as I treated her. “What’s your pleasure Barb?”

The Chemex is what I made for myself.

Photo by Purple Smith on Pexels.com

I remember the friend sitting at our kitchen table sipping the cup of coffee made by hand. The look on her face after each sip was like she had never experienced coffee like that before. I told her, “That will get you going”, and she responded with excitement, “What are we doing today?!”

Yesterday my daughter told me something her friend said about that morning at our table. She said, “Sunday morning was one the most beautiful morning’s I’ve ever had.” Those words were music to my ears and yet it also confirmed:

Beautiful moments aren’t made in an instant.

In Six Months

Once Cancer leaves your body, it doesn’t completely leave your mind. I said no to going to see my Breast Surgeon.

Instead, I called the imaging center, and asked them to send the films to my Oncologist. If I had to choose who to go see, it would be him. His office called and he agreed with the Radiologist. He’s not concerned, but wants to see me in six months.

When I left the imaging center, those words were playing on a loop in my mind. “See you in six months.” How would I live my life the next six months? What have I been putting off doing? I listened to my heart the whole way home.

As soon as I walked through the door, I bought concert tickets to see Noah Gundersen.

My daughter has seen him in concert, and he is one of our favorite artists. He’s not very well-known, so the tickets are cheap. She wants me to see him in concert, and she asked for these tickets as part of her birthday in August.

She had a priority list of things she’d like for her birthday, and we did everything on her little list, except the tickets. He’s playing in Houston, so that meant spending the night. I called my co-worker, and asked if I could work her hours. She said yes, so I made the extra money to enjoy the upcoming concert, and we will spend the night in Houston.

My daughter thought maybe I cancelled my appointment because of money. I said, “No darling. We have the money, but we are going to see Noah, and cherish the moment.”

Cherish the Moment

The weekend is here, and I hope you have moments.

I am blessed to enjoy moments everyday, but for some, that is not possible yet. To relax your body, and mind to the point of seeing what is happening right in front of you.

My fave moment this week by far, was with my daughter.

She came home Monday, and was mentally and physically exhausted from her weekend of travel. It was late afternoon, as I stretched out across my bed; gazing out the window to clear my mind, and relax. She came in my room wrapped in one of her favorite blankets. We call it ‘bonding’ time.

She curled up at the head of the bed, and laid against a mass of pillows. She started telling me everything about her weekend, as I laid at the foot of the bed and listened.

We laughed at things that happened, and were somber about others.

In moments, time is passing, but it feels very still.

I couldn’t hear her voice anymore, as I looked over to see her asleep. She had talked it all out, and now she could rest. I tiptoed out of the room, taking the moment with me.