are the three things you don’t argue with anyone about as it is an argument you can never, ever, win.
I could tell you in less than five seconds what I know about politics.
Religion? I’m not a fan.
That may be misleading to my Christian friends, but it is true. I have little use for “religion” as the world sees it. I tend to lean more toward the teachings of Jesus than what “religion” has to offer.
But this post isn’t about politics or religion so those of you who just bristled at my comments are off the hook.
It is about coffee.
I love coffee. I drink it several times a day and, contrary to the popular consensus, I use it at night to help me sleep.
Mayhaps it is because I have drank it for so long and have such an affection for it, it soothes me into dreamland.
On more than one occasion when I have been sleepwalking, the evidence of coffee brewing is strewn about the next morning.
If it keeps me in the house on bitter winter nights, I’m all for it. Duct tape doesn’t always work.
And yet, I digress.
I like my coffee strong; strong enough to eat the end of a stainless steel spoon, but I like it light.
Extra light, with real cream.
Milk will do when there isn’t anything else, but real, honest-to-goodness cream is how I prefer it.
A friend told me that I should be ashamed for using cream in my coffee.
I’m not sure if he was offended that the cream came from a cow or that I put calories in a zero calorie drink.
I don’t really care either way.
I can’t drink black coffee.
Ok, I suppose if I were stranded on a desert island with nothing but coffee and water, I would, without doubt, learn to adapt.
But I’m not on a desert island and Food City is on my way home, so you can bet your bottom dollar that there is, at this precise moment, cream in my fridge.
I eat healthy three times a day with at least one healthy snack somewhere between lunch and dinner or dinner and bedtime.
I exercise every day and me and my Pentax hike difficult mountain trails nearly every weekend.
I will put cream in my coffee, dammit.
Real cream.
The hard stuff.
And I will close my eyes and smile like the cat which ate the canary while I do.
Challenge my politics and you will find me a poor opponent … my eyes will roll back in my head and I will retain less than zero percent of the words that come out of your mouth.
I know who the President is and I feel pretty good about that.
Challenge me about religion and I will let you talk until you are blue … it won’t change my belief that I am saved by Grace, have my name written in The Book and religion has little to do with Jesus.
Challenge me about coffee and you will find yourself in a shallow grave covered in decaying leaves while I sit nearby, drinking a stellar cup of java lightened just right with real cream.
That’s just how I roll.
Bring it on.
Were you talking to ME?
Music to be buried by … the clarinet is a fine choice. Just sayin’.
In everything you do, be yourself; nobody else on earth can accomplish that.
A Photographer's Heart 