For five years, since relocating from my native land to the lower southwest portion of Connecticut, my morning routine has been relatively the same.
I wake up, wait for my morning head-fuzz to clear, and I walk to the store for my morning cup coffee. It is, perhaps, my most important meal of the day, that coffee — 24 ounces of java to wake me up and start my day just right. Plus, I’d order a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on a hard roll, and would grab my morning paper (the New York Daily News; never the New York Post) and I’d walk back to my apartment to complete the morning process.
Rain, snow, sleet, sunshine — no matter. It’s a two-block walk and I’d walk through Hell and back to get my hands on my morning coffee. I’ve owned a coffee maker for most of my life, but too often I run out of either the coffee, the cream, or the sugar. There is comfort in knowing my local deli will never let me down and never run out of such things.
If I had to guess, I’d say I’ve done this routine 1,825 times — or about 6.75 times a week since I moved here. Every so often, I would switch things up. If I had a hunkering for pancakes, I would drive the 1.5 miles to the local Duchess Restaurant, but if i do that once every three months, that’s a lot.
On some mornings, when I was really hungry, I’d order two BE&Cs. Occasionally lately, I’ve switched from a hard roll to toast. Coffee is mostly hazelnut, but when that’s out I might grab French vanilla or some Island Coconut. If I’m really feeling wild, I’d go half and half.
On a handful of occasions, like during Superstorm Sandy, or the recent blizzard that dropped 34 inches of snow on my neighborhood, the deli would be closed for a day. I hate those days. They don’t start right and I feel lost.
And it’s not like I’m against change. In the late 1990s, I packed up everything I owned and moved out of state for the first time. Didn’t know a single person, but I journeyed into the unknown. Thankfully, no matter where I’ve lived — from Bangor and beyond — every place has had a nearby store that sold coffee. Every place I’ve been, I’ve had that routine to start my morning.
This morning, though, I’m adding to my morning routine.
These words. And, I hope, more words in the future.
My bacon, egg and cheese is in my belly; my coffee is to my right, just an arm’s length away; and my keyboard is clacking away with every finger strike, banging out this blog post.
To be a writer, all you need to do is write. I started writing when I was in third grade and haven’t stopped since so adding the act of writing to my routine really isn’t that big a deal. It’s not like I now go skeet-shooting every morning, or play pinball, or wrestle an alligator. (Wow, how much fun would that be, huh? I mean … playing pinball every morning. Woot, woot!).
Every morning as part of my morning routine, I’m going to write on this blog. Sure, I might add something in the afternoon or evening, as the urge hits, but in my quest to write something every day, it will appear, most days, in the morning.
It may not give you the morning jolt of energy that my coffee gives me. I’m not even asking that anybody make a visit here part of their morning routine.
After all, this is about me, and nobody else.
But I’m looking forward to this slight change in my mornings.
I can’t wait to see where it goes.