Coffee Speed Dating

Fun. Dark. Chic. Coffee. Dating.

I liked fun and dark;
and although chic
had always brought to mind young fowl
in sunglasses and stiletto shoes,
the idea of coffee and dating made me giddy.

Her breath deserved its own horror genre.

“I can’t trust a chick who don’t drink coffee,
or at least strong tea.” She stared at my cup
(black French vanilla with sugar) before drowning on.
“Skinny bitches are at the top of my not to be wanted list.
They’re just too…” Her words trailed off
as she watched me nudge the coffee cup away.

He looked well-groomed,
and his smile could end small wars.
I cradled my cup.

“My children are my entire world,”
he said. “Pedro, Yuki, Omkar, Frieda, Karin,
and baby Albus Serius Gryffindor are everything to me;
their mothers can be a pain in anybody’s ass. But you,
sweetheart, would never have—” The sound of ceramic
crashing on tile made him shut up
(I had pushed my coffee cup away a tad forcefully).

She seemed nervous.

“I’m a tea drinker,” she whispered,
leaning over the table. “I know what you…
Actually, I’ve no way of knowing what you’re thinking.”
She sighed, took a sip of her coffee
and her eyes widened.
“Bitter, sweet, dark and scorching,”
she said, fanning her face with a hand.
“And you drink this on purpose?”

I moved closer to her,
took a long sip from my cup
(fun, dark French vanilla with chic sugar)
and joined the burst of laughter
that spilled out of my date.

for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and Poets United
“Coffee Date”, by Peggy Wong“Coffee Date”, by Peggy Wong

Pestle, Mortar, Pratchett

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With my pestle and mortar, I began to grind lavender blossoms and orange leaves.

“Oh Maga,” Lorelei’s message echoed in my head. “We have lost Terry Pratchett.”

He died surrounded by family and while still remembering who he was, I thought. I hope he got his glass of brandy. I continued pulverizing blossoms and leaves until I had enough to make the biggest cup of tea in the universe.

But I didn’t feel like drinking tea. In fact, I had been sipping French vanilla coffee while pressing pestle to mortar and watching orange leaves and lavender blossoms become something new… and thinking about Terry Pratchett being gone.

I’m not exactly sure at what point in time I decided to put my grinding tools aside, and chose to recycle some left over bits of wax into a new candle.

I started melting the old wax and…
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… grabbed some lavender sprigs…
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…a recycled coffee filter, a pencil, scissors, three pennies and an empty jar;
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I cut the coffee filter into a wide strip, and wrote “You will be missed and remembered…”
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…twisted the strip into a wick, anointed it with rosemary oil, tied one end of it to the pennies, and the other to the pencil, which was balanced over the mouth of the jar;
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I poured the melted wax into the jar, and added three sprigs of lavender when the wax began to set… I stared at the cooling candle for a long time, inhaling its scent, trying not to cry. García Márquez last year and now Pratchett… Death must happen in order for life to continue happening. If not, we’ll run out of room.
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The practical thought didn’t dam my tears, so I repeated the previous process in the making of a smaller candle…
Pestle, Mortar, Pratchett (8)Pestle, Mortar, Pratchett (9)Pestle, Mortar, Pratchett (10)

After removing the pencils and trimming the wicks, I melted a wee chunk of recycled lilac candle, topped the new candles with the purplish liquid, sprinkled some of the lavender/orange powder over the wax, and brought them into my bedroom to finish cooling by me… as I wrote this post…
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The small candle is shining in front of some of my Knight Writer’s books. I will save the one in the golden jar to light on April 29th, Terry Pratchett’s birthday… after he has had his first long conversation with Death; and perhaps, a drink or three with the ghost of Gabriel García Márquez…

Terry Pratchett
Sir Terence David John “Terry” Pratchett, OBE (28 April 1948 – 12 March 2015)
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