Our Humanity and Hot Beverages

A practice for reflection, conversation and connection

photo taken by author Michelle Lindblom

As I lay in bed in the wee hours of the morning, I smell the aroma of my spouse brewing coffee. Slowly, I rise, knowingg that the first hot beverage of the day will wake me up just a wee bit faster.

I was thirteen when I drank that first cup of coffee with my grandfather while visiting the family farm in Butte, ND—a wasteland in the middle of the prairie. Simplicity ruled the day and the life of my farmer grandparents. They didn’t get indoor plumbing until the 1970s, so we took baths in a big steel tub in the kitchen and had to walk a narrow dirt path to the outhouse with only the Sears catalog to finish the job. I appreciate having gone through these experiences.

When Grandpa came in for a morning or afternoon break, the coffee percolated on the stove, filling the kitchen with a deep, dark, earthy aroma and freshly baked bread and cookies.

Those smells are forever embedded in my olfactory senses and still bring me joy when encountering them. The heavy white coffee-stained cups came out with the sugar bowl and a glass jar of heavy cream—fresh from the dairy cows down the hill from the small two-story farmhouse.

Grandpa would pour the coffee as I added my accessories with a teaspoon, which remained in the cup while I drank the thick, creamy, slightly bitter, muddy, hot beverage. My thumb held the spoon in place so it wouldn’t hit my nose when I drank. I felt grown-up while at the same time feeling like a kid who was getting by with something devious and considered a potential growth inhibitor.

I was never very close to my grandfather, but this memory has always stuck with me. He had no idea what to do with the girls in his family and expected little from them outside of household chores. He was a reserved Swede, at least in the years I was growing up.

But during this time, the two of us sitting at the kitchen table felt special even though others were around. I chose to deny their existence in my desire to feel exclusive. There was little talk during our afternoon coffee klatsch; we just enjoyed our hot beverage in a sweet veil of silence. Although worn out from hard work, Grandpa had a twinkle in his eye, a stark white balding head with a visible boundary where his hat was, and leathery, suntanned skin from working the fields.

I have carried these memories for years, not consciously thinking about them. When I left my structured collegial life behind and began full-time artistic pursuits, taking breaks whenever I wanted became integral to my studio and creative process.

Taking coffee or tea in the afternoon is a universal practice America never fully understood or embraced. Coffee was/is marketed as a means to fully caffeinate us so we can charge through the day unencumbered by feelings of disconnect or weakness. The goal is to produce, achieve success and make money—such bullshit which has led many to an unhappy existence.

When my daughter returned to live with us in her mid-20s and during her stay, she started an afternoon tea routine. It allowed her to slow down, breathe, reflect on the day, sit silently with her thoughts, or watch a mindless show on TV if she desired a distraction.

These afternoon respites were about drinking tea and proper preparation even before the sipping began: choosing the right cup (yes, there is such a thing), selecting the appropriate tea for whatever the physical or mental requirements of the day were, pouring the hot water slowly, giving the tea time to absorb the moisture, and then letting it steep long enough to get the right amount of flavor.

Tea aficionados know what I’m talking about.

It did not take long, and we began having afternoon tea together. After years of wrangling egos and resistance, she was beginning to find my company affable and comforting. She could also sense that I needed to pause my own daily routine. Sometimes, we would have in-depth conversations that naturally evolved as we sipped our hot beverages slowly and deliberately. Or, if we were sitting outdoors, we might sit in silence. Our mutual love of nature, the visiting birds, squirrels, deer, and the sound of the river replaced words unspoken.

My daughter has taught me countless things, including appreciating the beauty of drinking a hot beverage with intention and a sense of connection with self and/or others—a universal practice of resting, connecting and enjoying the company of others or simply yourself.

When discussing hot beverages, I think about how Sheldon Cooper from the Big Bang comedy series was taught by his mother and memaw to offer a hot beverage if someone felt down or sick. Although he was portrayed as having few social skills, that offering was key to revealing his humanity. It spoke to the importance of reading the room and connecting with whatever and whoever was present. Offering something without expecting anything in return is a lovely act of kindness.

These days, my heart is heavy for many reasons, and I feel like screaming into the wind. My head has been in my hands more often than I care to admit. The powers that be are letting us down; many of us feel lost, alone, and disenchanted. Offering hot beverages will not solve the world’s problems. However, I still encourage us to apply the concept of pause, taking time to do things right and with intention, breathing, and connecting with ourselves, nature, and others.

Life can be difficult for everyone. Step back from the mayhem, breathe, and then get back in there.

Michelle Lindblom - An Artist’s Journey

Michelle Lindblom Studio