Often late we'd rear ourselves out of the drive way and head towards Mark Twain Elementary school the second public school I would ever be enrolled into.
I remember when I was having conversations with Mama ( My grandmother on my father's side.) and hearing the slight guzzle as she drank down the guatemalan blend from starbucks, her favorite. most notably because it came from the same country she grew up in.
Ever since I could remember the warm, fuzzy days of California coffee has been a huge part of my life. To help me wake up, to help me get through and most often then not in the final week of production the last sips of coffee before I could see dawn break helped me persevere.
In the morning the first thing that I turn on is the t.v, noise. noise is what I need sometimes when I live alone and I didn't realize that that was the very thing that was causing my anxiety to spike. Noise to fill the room, it's not empty. it's full of warmth, scented candles, a mewling kitty and the sound of gurgling coffee. I honestly don't know what I will do when that quiet is no longer trusted and there are kids running around my kitchen, it's almost kind of scary to think that I will eventually no longer have my quiet. Sometime's I wonder if mothers that once lived alone missed it, for I know plenty of people that dread the quiet.
Seems funny to me that bean liquid would shape me, a tiny piece of my heritage along with the countless other regions that my family comes from.
The quiet doesn't last long though because even if the computer hums, the cat mewls and the adobe update dings I still need some noise,
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