The Last Drop

I'm in a rut.  It's a comfortable rut and I'm not complaining.  Every morning starts in exactly the same way...every single day of the week.  Wake up, get up, make one cup of coffee and, while the pot is doing its thing, make sure there is food in the little kids' bowls.  Bring the coffee back to the bedroom and write the day's entry.  Some days the blog nearly writes itself, other days I struggle.  So many times I listen to the music in my head; that's nice.  This morning I woke up reciting a poem I learned long, long ago.  The opening lines are "Backward, turn backward, O Time in thy flight.  Make me a child again just for tonight" (Elizabeth Akers Allen, 1800s).  Now where the heck did that come from?  Maybe I'm just a bit tired of doing Grownup.  (Can you tell that dusting is on the agenda for today?)

The thing is, it doesn't take a cup of coffee long to go cold.  I don't much care for cold coffee, so I'm constantly checking the mug, even when I know I've finished it (just in case, you know).  A problem arises when I've used a black mug,as I did today.  Writing in a dark room, I check the cup and can't tell if it's empty.  Many's the time I've raised the mug and get hit with a slurp of iced coffee.  Oh well, it's still good to the last drop.

I was admiring Michael's coloring last evening while he was posing like a library lion.  He has perfect counterpoints to accent his thick black fur coat.  We'll go out for a walk later (Michael's in a rut, too), and I guarantee he'll go for the last drop.