In the Beginning, Coffee

It seemed fitting, I think, to begin with a dark morning cup. Every Sunday through Thursday, Andrew arrives home from work just after 2AM, and while he unwinds from his shift and prepares for bed, he brews a pot of coffee for me in the french press or Chemex and fills a thermal carafe, which he then sets on the side table of the couch alongside a mug. He knows which mugs are my favorites, and he always alternates between them. Some days the coffee is accompanied by a handwritten note scrawled on a scrap of paper, and sometimes a small gift he picked up in the aisles of the store the night before - the man knows how giddy small plastic farm sets make me.

This ritual, continued at 5AM when I wake up for the day, is one of the parts of life I am most grateful for; it's one of the parts of our marriage I'm most grateful for, even though it occurs as we cross paths. We don't meet while awake during these hours, but his gift to me is priceless: a little under two early morning hours of uninterrupted reading, writing, and puttering, coffee provided. Yesterday was Valentine's Day, and as my workplace filled with flower deliveries, boxes of chocolates, and tales of dinner reservations, I found myself answering the question quite often - "What did Andrew do for you?" Looking back, I think I explained that we don't really observe the holiday, or that I thought I might receive an amazing letterpress card per our usual (which I did), but what I wish I would have said is this: a cup of really incredible coffee made in the dark of the early morning by a slow, simple method that does not involve an auto-timer. We don't do much on the "one" day, but goodness knows, he's got the everyday locked.