Sip. Sip.
Taking life in in small tastes.
Last week’s snow has melted completely. There are four sticks in my front yard that had just a few days ago been the arms of two snow-people, Gertrude and Gerald, we’d named them.
Gerald had coffee beans shaping his facial features, and I wonder now if they’re somewhere soggy in the grass or if the crows have found them and are enjoying a little caffeine buzz as they go about their day.
Caffeine does little for me itself, but the ritual of sipping my iced coffee, of holding it in my hand, is often the thing that tethers me to the present moment, to myself. I am here. This is happening. I am here. I am doing this.
Sip, sip.
Life has been lots of little sips lately.
A busy month of work followed by a slow one. A response to an email inquiring about a job amidst a bunch I’ve sent to no response.
Sip, sip.
Some friction with my kiddo’s dad on a call when he criticizes me for some silly thing, followed by our usual small talk. Sip.
The snow that came late in winter and stayed just a few days. Sip.
A new episode of my TV show and then a week’s wait for the next one. Sip.
A package in the mail. A few chapters of a book read. Some texts with my chosen-sisters. A call with my mom. Noticing my daughter feeling heavier on my hip; how much longer will I even get to hold her?
Little sips of daily happenings. Of noticing. Of feeling.
The cup of life in my hand keeping me tethered to myself.
I am here. This is what’s happening right now.
If this has a tone of melancholy, let me clarify: Gulping doesn’t interest me.
Give me all the gentle tastes of life from a cup of calm. Give me small drops of hard things so I find them easy to swallow.
Give me sustenance in spades, but drawn into my mouth delicately though a straw. And let the taste linger on my tongue.
Let there be another day and another cup in my hand for as long as can be.