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Posts tagged ‘Morning’

Small Red Hand

Small Toy Hand

Small Red Hand. ©Batya7, JustHavingFun

Early one morning I drove to the medical lab to have my blood drawn. A small red hand lay on the curb in the parking lot. Its brilliant color caught my eye in the early morning sun contrasting vividly with the concrete. I paused and knelt to examine it.

Few others would stop to look at detritus on the ground, but I’m a scavenger. I believe that there are things in this world seemingly with no purpose except for that which only I can see in them. Found items, scrounged items, trash-picked items—they excite me. That which was once scorned calls to me. I have the “flea market gene,” and it activates itself when I pass thrift stores. Perhaps it can become “art.” I want to collect it but refrain. The “decluttering” gene kicked in and sense returned to me.

Still I wondered. Where did it come from? An action figure? Superman doesn’t wear gloves and Spiderman’s hands have webs on them. Batman’s gloves are black and Robin’s are green. Did the child cry when he realized his toy’s hand was amputated? How did it come to be precisely here, in this location, in the parking lot of a medical building? Perhaps the wind lofted it here, a particularly strong gust I’d imagine. Only a half inch long, it looked forlorn, abandoned, and incongruous in its strong color.

Brake Pad on Asphalt

Brake Pad on Asphalt. ©Batya7, JustHavingFun

I noticed the texture of the concrete it lay upon: coarse whitish rock fragments embedded in a sandy matrix. Nearby upon the asphalt rested a rusty brake pad, or so I thought then. Now I’m not so sure what it is. A smear of yellow paint limned one edge. The asphalt appeared chunkier than the concrete of the curb, almost sticky. In the strong morning light, deep valleys crowded its surface—deep from the perspective of an ant or a microbe, that is. Were I the size of the red-handed toy, I’d have no trouble walking over that knurled surface though. I’d have sat on the brake pad using it as a bench and admired the view.

I snapped some pictures then went inside for my blood test, forgetting the little red hand and the rusted piece of steel, my odd trip into a land where a red toy hand pointed the direction of my travels. That two-minute pause gave me a moment to think about something different than usual and I cherished it. And here, six months later as I reviewed my old photos, I was brought back to that sunlit morning, the air crisp, and possibilities beckoning.

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Happiness Is My Choice, 11

Windowsill

Looking up and outside all I see is possibilities.

Sitting on the sofa, glancing outside: the window blinds are open, sunlight illuminates the plants on the windowsill, the sky is blue, and  a mug of coffee steaming on a coaster — life is good.

I woke up. Yikes, those birds are loud!  Look! It’s a whole hour earlier than I’d planned to wake up. Better turn off the alarm clock so it doesn’t startle me later. Don’t want the toes to be cold; slide feet into the fuzzy slippers. My knees creak as I walk across the room. The mirror catches my eye. My hair looks like the rooster’s pride!

I woke up.

I woke up.

The furnace clicks on and the blower purrs warm air. An unseasonable freeze grabbed the region last night. I’m warm and decently clad. Heat some water for the coffee. Breakfast choices? I’ll settle for oatmeal, my old favorite.

Thank you G-d for starting my day with comfort and optimism. Did I ever thank you for the color green? Thanks. And thank you for hair I can simply tame with the pass of a hairbrush.

The Best Part of Wakin’ Up™

©/TM/® The Folger Coffee Company

©/TM/® The Folger Coffee Company

Did you know the Folgers Coffee jingle is 35 years old?

As one of the most memorable and recognizable pieces of advertising, “The Best Part of Wakin’ Up is Folgers in Your Cup®” Jingle has helped millions of Americans start their day with the sounds, sights, and smells of fresh-brewed Folgers® Coffee. Composed by Leslie Pearl, the original Jingle debuted in 1984 and has since been transformed into country, gospel, jazz, R & B, folk, Celtic, and a cappella versions. 1

I love a dark, deep and hot cup of coffee, the scent rising aggressively from the cup, the turbulent steam assailing my nasal passages. Exquisite espresso, captivating cappuccino, luscious latte, basic black. The aroma wraps around my neurons, sheathing the axons and coating them with a scarf of enlightenment. “Aaaahhh!” the brain cells sigh, “coffee,” and the sun shines brighter, the birds sing in glee, and there is world peace.

Sadly for Folgers (somewhere along the line they lost the apostrophe), I’m not really a fan of their coffee, preferring Nescafé Tasters Choice Dark Roast when I need a cup of instant. I’ll allow, however, that the best part of waking up just may be coffee. You are thinking, “it’s the caffeine. She’s fueled by caffeine.” No, I protest, it’s not the caffeine; too much gives me the shakes. The smell, the odor, the fragrance opens my mind to new horizons… or at least, it opens my eyelids to the new day.

Every day I wake up
Pour myself a cup
Of that rich Folgers aroma
The best part of waking up.
It's the doo-wop doo-wop in all I do
The mountain grown aroma always comin' through.
Oh the best part of wakin' up
Is Folgers in your cup.
[Now, I'm right in harmony
When I doo-wop doo-wop di-dee
One more cup and it's a nu-wop she-bop for me
Oh the best part of wakin' up
Is Folgers in your cup.]
The best part of wakin' up
Is Folgers in your cup.2
The glass top fairly jumped with boiling coffee on that cold morning.

The glass top fairly jumped with boiling coffee on that cold morning.

I learned to love the aroma of while living with my grandparents. It’s the mid-60’s. Imagine the bright yellow kitchen in the morning sun. A January day with single-digit temperatures, the windows sparkle with frost inside and glisten with some condensation. The glass percolator lid seems to jump with the fresh-brewed coffee clamoring for attention.  Zayda3 is seated at the table already with a cup of coffee, and the radio atop the radiator is likely tuned to WCAU, 1210 AM.  Bubba4 hurried me to eat breakfast before school—Mom must have been busy with my younger sisters elsewhere. A bowl of my favorite, oatmeal, awaits me.  But wait, there’s more: Coffee Milk! That elixir, that concoction of greatness: Coffee (pronounced kaw-fee5). My glass receives an inch of coffee from the busy aluminum pot and the rest is milk… because I’m old enough to drink coffee! Motes of dust sparkle in the air. I scratch my name onto the frosty window. I spoon sugary oatmeal puddled with butter and dreamily drink coffee milk never knowing that some 50 years later, this will be one of my cherished memories.

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1. – See more at: http://folgers2.votigo.com/folgers-jingle-history#sthash.47iUrQxb.dpuf
2. Rockin’ Morning – Folgers Coffee sung by Rockapella
3. Yiddish for grandfather.
4. Yiddish for grandmother.
5. The Overlooked Philadephia Accent, accessed February 2, 2015.

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