Of Coffee and Classics...

Ah, coffee. I made a particularly enjoyable cup of joe today, and I was reading a particularly enjoyable book, which is a perfectly enjoyable equation. Classics are some of the best books to read with coffee, unlike most 'coffee table' books. In a caffe, or a Starbucks, there seems to be a mutual understanding between those not-quite-sophisticated readers of the classics, holding a latte, or regular black. One could say that a cup of coffee is a classic, in edible, liquid form; or that a classic is a coffee in a readable, solid form. They are related, which makes them both necessities of experiencing life.
Of course, not all classics are readible, just as all coffee is not consumable. Some coffee is so atrociously made, it ought never to have BEEN made, and so it is for many 'classics' that should not have been written. (I won't mention titles, I'm sure you can insert your own.) But when you have the perfect cup of coffee, the perfect classic, the comfiest chair, and the rain is coming down just enough, thoughts soar beyond limitations.

Of Coffee and Rather Fat Books...

Coffee and books- most preferably books of the chunky variety, go together like rain and clouds, like bees and flowers, or more understandably, like butter on toast.
When you sit in your comfy chair with an over-sized book yet, no coffee, something feels like it is missing: coffee is the present need. With coffee and a book, I always seem to grasp another meaning that I would have otherwise missed without my caffinated companion.
During those sips of coffee, your mind contemplates the plot, the characters, etc. and you have a deeper conception of what is happening, who the people are, and their world is drawn a little closer to yours. You can travel oceans, galaxies, mountains, and worlds, with a mug of coffee in your hand and not spilling a drop. Try feeding that to Canadian Airlines. Something about a good hot cup of joe and enjoying a deliciously thick book is soothing, calming, and peaceful. Coffee refreshes the body, and a book refreshes the mind. This is probably the best combination- no bosh therapist could ever come up with that. Simple, really. So often it's the obvious things that people miss.

Of Coffee and Rain...

Today, as I was sipping my first cup of coffee, I checked the weather for-cast. Apparently, we are getting a total estimated two weeks of rain. April was a little late with her showers, considering this is the first sign of rain all month. There is something about sitting beside a window, a favorite mug of coffee, and rain trickling down the sill that gets me. I love rain. I love coffee. Another marriage made in heaven, or at least a first date.
Rain makes me think, and nothing goes better with thinking, than coffee. When I sit and sip I think of what rain can mean. To me, rain cleans things: air (which smells gorgeous just after the rain), earth, pavement...the list goes on. After the rain passes, the sky breaks out into the most brilliant blue you will ever see- nothing can really match it. Artists try to capture it with paint, people try to capture it with pictures, the ocean tries to capture it with reflections...but no matter how hard we try, we cannot contain that unattainable colour of blue, a blue sky that has been washed free by a natural shower. Two sounds that make this little apartment cozy this morning would have been the coffee maker running in harmony to the sound of the windy rain blustering about outside. I like to think they were singing to eachother.

Of coffee and Chubbs...

Every morning, I have my daily "fix" of that wondrous thing, that beloved eighth wonder of the world: coffee.

Every morning, I watch a certain mischievous squirrel, by name of Chubbs, come poking around my window looking for apples. I spoil him, I really do. He stays around for about 20 minutes or so, we chat, consuming our refreshments; he with apples, I with coffee. Until Chubbs came along, I had no idea squirrels were so greedy for fruit. I ignorantly thought they fed on nuts all day long, assuming squirrels have no longing for a change of diet. Chubbs does eat nuts, but he's a horder. I've tried to spy on him, but as soon as he realizes that I've seen where he has bestowed his lastest find, he scampers back, digs it up, and with a slight sniff of reproach, dashes off to hide out of the sight of my prying eyes. I've learned quickly when he wants to be friendly. Apples. Who knew?

Of coffee and writing...

There is nothing half so marvelous as sitting in a small corner of a small coffee shop with a small notepad, a small pen, and a rather large cup of joe. Say what you like, it really doesn't get better than that. Add an unlimited imagination, an inquisitive mind, a compulsory writing habit, and you have the mix for a novel. A masterpiece or a piece of trash, it doesn't matter much. Those are the makings of the novel. You can shove tea up your fanny- coffee is the thing.
If you sit there a while, you would be surprised (though you shouldn't) at all the possible candidates for main characters, antagonists, sidekicks, minors, and etc. that come walking through the door. Just park yourself in a small corner for a time, and sooner or later (preferably sooner, as later makes coffee cold) the most interesting characters come strolling in, characters that you might never have thought up all alone.
i.e: I was waiting in a Starbucks for the perfect individual to come along, and along she came.
I must confess I jumped a little; she cut quite the imposing figure, throwing open the door and strutting in like she owned the place. As a matter a fact, she did, but I wasn't to know till some time later. Back to her entrance: she was wearing a loose, airy dress so red it made her look like a cardinal. Perched on her head was a small, red hat, and in her hand she held a fat mug. She wore sandals like the kind you would wear to a dinner party, and on her arm was a white purse. The workers either buttered up to her like saps or they truly liked her, for they were all smiles, laughs, and refills for her mug that I must confess; I was rather envious of. It was a nice mug.
She sat down a table away from me, perfect for my spying eyes, and while she read the newspaper I wrote down every detail, after which I promptly named her Savannah. She will definitely make a good supporting character.
As I said, coffee shops are perfect for this. You meet, and observe, all kinds of people, with whom you have only one thing in common: coffee.