Morning, Coffee, and Hummingbirds.

I like to get up early, before anyone else. At least I have convinced myself it is by choice, it might be the curse of my Mother and Aunt (who was like a second mother). They were raised during hard times, and spent many years working as waitresses. Often their working shifts would start early for the breakfast crowd. It seems that it became habit, and I would tease them, laughing about the hours they kept. Now, those are the hours I keep. And I can’t help but wonder if they are somehow responsible, in some heavenly reward, which they both deserve, drinking heavenly coffee and laughing quietly at me as I talk about how much I enjoy the solitude of early morning. “He who laughs last, laughs loudest,” I guess.

This morning, I decided to mix pleasure with pleasure, so to speak. I brought my coffee, my iPad, my phone and my camera out to the deck to hunt the elusive hummingbird. 

Hummingbirds are fast, lightning fast, changing directions in a microsecond, stopping, hovering, and zooming off. Science fiction alive and well in the animal kingdom.

I remember the first time I saw a hummingbird. It came buzzing in, sounding like a flight of angry hornets. A terrifying buzzing with no distinct point of origin. It echoed off the walls, filled the patio, surrounding me with a terrifying, inhuman sound right out of the apocalypse. “Look at the size of that bee!” I told my wife, grabbing my chair to fend it off, thinking about throwing my wife as a sacrifice so I could make my escape. She would understand.

“That’s a hummingbird.” She said, with the practiced patience she has developed over the years. 

Sure enough, it was a gentle, dainty little bird, flitting gracefully from flower to flower, drinking and moving on. I fell in love. It was the most amazing animal I had ever seen. It sat, mid air, wings beating so fast they were a blur, long beak dipping into the small flowers, drinking and moving on. It was the most delicate, beautiful scene. My wife buys flowers she knows they like, just to keep them coming. She knows how much I enjoy seeing them.

Last year I got a hummingbird feeder for my birthday, and a friend of my wife’s makes a magic elixir of sugar and water, boiled, refrigerated, and irresistible to hummingbirds. They stop all day, have a drink, flit among the flowers and speed off. Today, I managed to get a picture of one, having a drink. 

Buyer Beware, the language of coffee.

Last night my wife gave me a Starbucks gift card.  This made me very happy, because there is a delightful little game we play at Starbucks when I stop in to buy coffee. 

“I would like a medium coffee, black, please.”   I say with a touch of a smile lighting my face.

“You want a Grande, Bold, no room for cream.”  They offer, a little anger pretending to foam from their mouth.

I look thoughtfully at the counter person, and pretend to think about their offer, earnestly, sincerely.  And say, “that sounds great, but this morning, I will just stick with a medium coffee, black.  Thank you, though.”

At this point the person at the cash register feigns disgust, and says “that is what a Grande, Bold is” and acts a little angry.

“Great, thank you so much.”  I say politely, with all of the gratitude only Friday can give.

This morning was even better, because I had an old gift card with a balance, and Starbucks hates to share the balance with the owner of the card, it is their little secret.  And there was only 10¢ on the card.  She really pretended to be upset by this.  “There is only TEN CENTS on this card, you still OWE ME!!!!” 

“I have this one, and it is brand new.”   I tried to remove it from the cardboard display, and she was not going to wait around for that sort of nonsense.

"I can do it with that still on."  She pretended to whisper "damn you."  I pretended not to hear.

She finishes the transaction and says “here is your coffee, have a nice day, jerk.”

I love Friday at Starbucks.  It feels like home.  But I have teenagers living there.