Morning rituals. I have been known to dump out the day’s first cup of coffee or tea if it wasn’t just so, whether at home, traveling, or camping. When I travel, I pack my favorite loose leaf teas, paper tea bags, and a travel mug. I need half ‘n half. Not milk. Not cream. Half ‘n half. Or, when in Canada, ‘cereal cream’ from glass bottles. So. Good.
Yep. I am that person. The same person who can wear the same pair of long underwear for days on end when I’m in The Writing Zone.
Another important morning ritual for me is to be up before others. I make the tea, or the coffee, and sit. Sip. But I don’t talk. It’s not that I’m grouchy in the morning. Yes, I am that cheery, chirpy person and I apologize in advance. But the not-talking allows the night’s dreams and imaginings to surface.
This day, I sipped coffee while watching the fog roll in and the rain fall in plump drops straight down out of the clouds. The cats weren’t out for very long and now they’ve each claimed their spot, their blanket, their human. I chopped walnuts. I split cardamom pods and ground the seeds while the oatmeal cooked. Opened another jar of the apple sauce I put up in October from organic, heirloom apples grown here on Salt Spring Island.
And now, I can write.
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