My second cup of coffee was on
the edge of sweet and tan. Not
quite right, but I’m drinking it
anyway. Taste buds are off or
something. First cup was fine
with hazelnut, but this second
cup is blah. Or am I blah this
morning and the coffee is fine?
I’m thinking it isn’t the coffee.
I’ll need all the courage coffee
can muster as I have to call
Medicare about a denied claim
last May. It is too early in the
morning for a Medicare rant.
Let’s move on. Actually, the
day moved on without me
making that call. It will come.
and so did the next day. Today,
at the car repair again. Her car is
making a noise. Coffee still didn’t
taste right. So, I tried a cup black
sitting here waiting. Medications
have an impact on taste. If you
asked me the flavor of my coffee,
I’d say, “Metallic.” He called me
out to the shop to show me the
culprit. The noise was coming
from a bad bearing in the timing
belt pulley. AND, (big “and” here)
the timing belt is shot. Well, we
got 133,000 miles out of it. It is
time. Could have been worse; it
could have quit while driving.
Timing is everything. She called
as I was talking with him about
the belt. We agreed; got to get
it fixed. So, the shop owner gave
me a ride home. Lunch is past.
I had a hot cup of metallic tea.
Nothing tastes right. I looked up
the Blue Book value on her car.
Don’t ask! I thought as I got
older, I’d have fewer questions,
and life experience would bring
some answers to life’s hard
questions. Not so. It seems I have
more questions and fewer answers;
ask more and know less. Well,
tomorrow evening is my brain MRI.
Maybe I’ll know more. It is going on
four; I’m getting chilled. Coffee that
tastes like coffee would be good. Now
to get back to writing my book. I’ve
had enough car and coffee adventures
for today. True, things could be better.
But that doesn’t mean I stop hoping
or dreaming. God keeps his word and
his promises. Big dreams are good.
A little hazelnut and a little hope go a
long way. Lord, keep up the good work.
Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)
I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)