Coffee: the arcane ingredient in the evolution of a demi goddess

Created from the university library

My first sip of coffee was awful, but after I downed the entire cup in desperation to complete a final in a class I never attended it launched me into a space where ancient Romans, origin of the stars, and the entangling of religions twisted into my brain cells and I was flying through notecards and highlighted notebook pages like I’d entered the Twilight Zone of Mt. Olympos. By the time I had went back to the silver canister of coffee with a hand-written sign next to it that said “Free Coffee” in black marker three times that evening, and each of those times the process started the same me making wincing face, taking another sip, and turning the page of a textbook trying to memorize every word on the page.

Stirring youth in a McDonald’s drive thru

89 cents for a small coffee on my way to work on a Saturday morning still hazy from a Friday night out with my friends. The smell of the coffee as it passed through the back window of my car would get me excited for my first sip. Excited enough to forget the embarrassment of having to use the back window of my car because my front one was broken. Instead, thinking about that morning rush of caffeine was enough for me to even feel lucky that my driver’s seat was also pretty broken and I could move it so far back I could complete the transaction from the back window with ease. I didn’t have much, but I might as well have been a sovereign majesty, pinky up, static and music blaring an 80’s mash up, “Goddess on the mountain top / Burning like a silver flame / The summit of beauty and love / And Venus was her name, ow…”

Developing in Mom’s kitchen

Shopping has been the center of our relationship since I could walk. Growing up in rural Wisconsin meant waking up two hours before a store opened: Give yourself an hour to get ready and another hour to drive to the nearest mall. At 24, I don’t need to confirm a departing time with her. I drive across town in my new car at 8am and make myself a cup of coffee as I wait for her to come out of her bedroom. As I take a sip out of one of her to-go mugs, I see her emerge from her room in an animal-print sweater, slimming dark jeans, and her blonde hair perfectly curled. She is an ageless beauty. She is a matriarchal goddess and it occurs to me that I hope I have done enough praying in my lifetime to be allowed to turn out like her. She waltzes right by me saying, “Make me a cup, will ya? I’m just about ready.”

Rearing on the bathroom floor

My little boy places his hand on my resting shoulder and says, “Mom, I had an accident.” Down the stairs we go together and as I run the water into the bathtub still scattered with bath toys from bathtime the night before, I drift to the silver Keurig on our coffee nook and fill a sustainable K cup with a medium roast Dubuque Coffee Company Highlander Grog that I grinded the night before in anticipation of of an early toddler morning. As it brews, I grab my naked little boy, kiss the top of his head, and place him in the warm water surrounded by his boats and floating alphabet. As the noise of the running water fades out, the sound of coffee dripping fades in. I clutch it with two hands, lean my head on the bathroom wall, and wait for it to take effect enough for me to think two boats crashing at 6am are as funny as a toddler does.

Defying mortal transience in Rome

“Un cafe per favore.” The barista behind the counter goes to work on the espresso machine as I stand back taking in my surroundings. To the left, my gorgeous Italian man is smiling at me as he pays; behind him, the Roman Forum and all its ruins of what was once an empirical government. I am humbled by how small I feel. I have romanticized this visit to my husband’s roots and I can’t help but hear an orchestra of violins as he takes my hand and leads me to a balcony that oversees the Temple of Venus. I sip my bitter espresso and thank the ancient goddess for everything I am.