GONE AT LAST

A song for you, my Friendos.

Click here to hear it.

xo

I HEART JOE

Coffee:  The recipient of my unrequited love.

I crave it every morning and adore the whole routine. I unzip the bag to inhale the scent of the beans and tilt it until the beans dance into the grinder. The obnoxious whirring ensues as the blades reduce the beans to tiny fragments. The aroma rises as I remove the lid and I take another slow whiff. I dump the fresh grinds into the filter and fill the back of the coffeemaker to the predetermined level. Like magic, the clear water morphs into chestnut-colored concoction that drips into the pot below. Anxiously, I wait for the trickles to cease. I fancy up the java with cream, the color swirls and changes again. I sweeten it with a squeeze from the honey belly and tap cinnamon onto the top. The first steamy sip slips down my throat. Aahhhh. Good morning.

Here's where the relationship gets tricky. I'm never hungry when I wake up. My belly does not appreciate coffee and gets especially irritated by its arrival when it's empty. I have suffered through too many cases of self-induced coffee-stomach to avoid the truth:  I shouldn't drink coffee. Yet I still do. I should avoid caffeine, but it's so hard to resist.

My ramblings sound like the mad thoughts of an addict. Dammit.

I pondered all of this as I enjoyed a homemade mocha. I melted Lindt truffles in milk to create a frothy mixture to add to my coffee. It was divine.

As I savored the last sip, I discovered this at the bottom of my mug.

Maybe coffee loves me after all.

WHISTLE WHILE YOU LIVE

I'm blessed with the kindest father. He lives his life as a happy man.

He's a whistler. It's a mellow, joyful kind of whistle. Not harsh or shrill. Never seems to be an actual song, just a peppy tune of random notes. It epitomizes his life. He happily moves through each day with a smile on his face & a whistle on his lips. He inspires me to look on the bright side of life. It's impossible to be grouchy whilst whistling. When I am feeling blue, I try to think of my dad & whistle. It always puts a smile on my face.

HAPPY WRITER WITH ENDO

I'm delighted to be attending a writer's conference tomorrow. It's my first one.

This blog and you, my friendos, have been an essential piece of my healing, growth and sanity. And humor preservation.

I've always loved to write. When I was young, usually just my Grandma Rosemary read my stories. Writing for a blog is such a unique form of expression. My meager words can reach across the planet, instantly. I'm still amazed by that. (And worried, because no one loves & appreciates me like my Grandma did).

My question for you, fellow endo blogger, is this. How do you define yourself...a writer who happens to have endo, a blogger who writes about endo, an endo sister who blogs? Or none of the above?

BE POSITIVE

Be Positive...my motto AND my blood type. What are the odds?