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Honoring My Mother: Two loves

Without a doubt, there are just so many things to love in this here mama Earth, yet first in line should always be that thankful appreciation of waking up to a quiet early morning.

But birds having a go at it, chirping to death at 5 a.m. (what’s their problem?), puppies barking their heads off over passing cats, and the neighbor’s one-year old bawling endlessly, demanding to watch his monster truck movie. All these, all at once, and you haven’t even had your coffee yet. What is wrong with the world?
It is true, just being able to wake up and be alive is a divine blessing nobody should ever take for granted. However, for the grouch waking up, it should at least be on his own terms. Non-negotiable. Just as breakfast, they say, is the most important meal of the day, the first moments of waking up in the morning, is likewise an essential component to a good day. Bilibid or not, it can influence how “good” a day is going to be.
The next to love would be coffee, that pick-me-up-and-go vitamin. It is the main supplement to the blood in my veins, the invaluable ink to my pen (or busty battery for my cp), and the handy hammer, Mjolnir to my Thor. Whether you like it or else, nothing comes between me and my coffee. So, it’s not too difficult to comprehend what a noisy wakey wakey and a no-coffee morning is going to be like in my mountain retreat in Uraya. That has never ever happened though, and I always pray to the god of dark roast that it never will.
After a steaming cup, this dingbat’s eyes fine-tune its focus and all seems right again with the world. Chirping birds, bawling babies and pesty pups might as well fly off with Thanos in a snap, to another alliteration universe.
The two, coffee and a serene break of day, will rock my world just fine and set me up wide-eyed and ready for my writing session. Not too long ago, I used to have music in the mix, and it worked for quite a while, a three-some of sorts. Through time though, as oil and water clearly do not mix, I began to have difficulty stringing paragraphs together whenever there was a tune playing. It was either I wrote or I listened, with no in-betweens. I turn on some blues or Dylan, and I instantly morph into an ear. Writing then sulks and jumps out the window, to who-knows-where, and blocks me (writer’s block, get it? wink wink).
Since then, we have worked out an arrangement: silence has moved in to become my write-buddy, and music coddles me at recess and accompanies me on my downtown errands. God is good.
The late John Denver said it best when he sang: welcome to my morning, welcome to my day.

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