Today Has Not Begun Well

The Spouse is my snooze alarm. About 5 minutes after my alarm brutally rings, he comes to me with a cup of coffee and a goodbye kiss. A most excellent way to begin one's day.

This morning he came in with the kiss and an apology. He'd managed to make coffee without installing the pot. And he had to go to work. Oops. Sorry.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Sure, there was a pool of coffee on the kitchen floor but I have to mop today anyway. No, the problem was other.

First, there are no coffee beans in the house. No where. Which means that the only coffee available is the emergency pre-ground stuff that was leftover from the Big Blow. Fine. The adage "coffee is coffee" is not one I ascribe to, but a sip or two of hot beverage is still required.

The situation is not optimal but it is times like these that test one's character. I was brave.

Except that something, and heaven only knows what, has rendered the coffee maker mute. It will not light up. The little digital clock face is blank. I unplugged and replugged the machine (because that's the first thing you do in any mechanical misfire). Nothing. I smacked it, gently, but smacked it. Nothing. I swore at it. Still nothing.

Having exhausted my technical repertoire, I boiled some water and made some totally crappy coffee with the emergency* crap.

Fortunately, I do not have time to sit around and worry about this unfortunate turn of events. I have a house guest coming tomorrow and preparations must be made. Including getting some decent coffee into the house.

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Yesterday The Child and I went out to harvest grapes. Ah, the vendage. The harvest was not as bountiful as last year but there look to be enough to make jelly and juice. But that's not the important bit. The important bit was that as I was harvesting on one side of the vines and she on the other, I was thinking to myself that this was one of those perfect moments: brisk autumn breeze, the rustle of leaves, the snip of the shears, the scent of the grapes warmed by the sun. It made me recall moments on the farm, harvesting this or that with my grandpa or Dame Judi...little moments so perfectly perfect that they swell and make it seem, in memory as if growing up was always late summer, always harvest. And it made me wonder, as I do from time to time, what moments of her childhood will stick with The Child in that way?

And as I was thinking that The Child sighed and said, "I really love doing this, mama. It's one of my favorite things". She went on to rhapsodize about the glory of grapes, how they need so little effort...just planting and watering and pruning to yield satisfying fruit. She asked if I'd be making a winemaker's cake with some of the grapes and if there would be enough for her favorite juice. She told me that she wants to own a vineyard when she grows up.

I almost cried.

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*Note to self: get decent coffee for the emergency rations. What? We're going to compound the stress of a cataclysm by drinking crap? I think not.