Coffee Goes Cold - Again

Morning light is just starting to reach the patio where I sit, my coffee is fresh and hot, and in no time, after my writing practice, it will be cold and waiting to be heated up. That doesn’t matter because I’m all about writing.

The usuals are all around me. Bird songs. Scratchy noises from a nearby critter. A metallic hammer beat on the roof, the chimney cover taking the worst of it from what seems to be the noisiest bird of the bunch, a cactus wren.

I take my first sip, ahhh, hot and wonderful. Now, pen in hand. What feels like ten minutes in, probably only three, I’m out of ink. I grumble and grr, push my chair away from the table and that hot cup of coffee, and go on a pen hunt.

All the while wondering why I didn’t bring out five other pens. I could have prevented this distraction.

I didn’t want to stop writing.

Listening to Wild Mind by Natalie Goldberg, her words, “keep writing,” kept coming to mind as my hand moved over the page. Endless streams of thoughts and words landing. Now, I’ve stopped writing.

Pens found. Ready to write, back in front of my journal. Coffee cold. I put my mug down, making my own loud noise. If I go inside I can heat it up. No. Not another distraction. Keep writing. No, I want warm coffee. What does Natalie know. I haven’t lived sixty-three years to be denied my delicious coffee in the morning, not when I have nowhere to run off to. Just keep writing. The words seem to get louder in my head.

My eyes dart to the left. Out of the corner of my eye, a large lizard is getting buff on my patio wall. Keep writing gets replaced with how cool is that.

Sonoran Desert Spiny Lizard - Similar to what I saw flexing on my wall.

Am I lost? Did I lose my flow, or did I welcome myself into a playground of possibilities? Because here I am, sitting at my computer, writing this. Call it a practice or call it nothing at all. I’m still writing, just here at the computer now.

So it’s May 31st, and it dawned on me, after I said adios to my writing practice, the cup still sitting out there cold, the page left mid-thought. I published my book this month, and I am still delighting in that. It also landed today, as I breathed in the cool morning air (the desert is moving into its hotter days, so these cool mornings are fleeting), that I wrote a love letter to the desert I’ve called home.

I wrote a love letter to my Mom and Dad, who lived here, who brought us three kids here, and both went to their heavenly home here. Feels like a complete circle.

Smiles galore as I celebrate this new day.