Morning Coffee

I sit in the kitchen with kelly-green walls as the ceiling fan slowly spins and sends a gentle breeze across my arms. A deep voice rumbles from the other side of the kitchen as my brother loads the dishwasher. He speaks about the Olympics and Mary Lou Retton’s advertising career.

Next to me my husband laughs and contributes to the joke. I settle into my seat and enjoy the the interplay of the bass and baritone voices and the connections of past and present. From the other room I hear Mom, our matriarch, ask who wants to play cards. Silence from the grandchildren. Then I hear the TV go on and the children gather around grandma begging for their shows.

One of the cats yowls at me, ready for breakfast, and I lift my eyebrow. This is my niece’s job. She walks into the kitchen and speaks to the cat who follows her off into the recesses of the laundry room.

I look at myself in the wall of mirrors and smile at me. This is the joy of family. I take a sip of my orange juice and rejoice.


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