Kettle Mourning

"Shit, shit. I'm coming! I'm coming, goodness."
This is a common string of frustrations I blurt out, directed at my screaming tea kettle every morning; pre-caffeine of course. I set the kettle on, grind the dark beans of life giving energy and nestle the grounds into the bleach-free filter. It all starts out very innocent, The Morning Coffee Ritual. I start looking forward to my morning cup of coffee the night before. Just the thought of the first hot, comforting, creamy cup in the handmade ceramic mug brings me hope that tomorrow will be glorious. Sometimes, the thought of that morning cup is the only incentive I have to go to bed at a reasonable hour. My husband thinks it's cute, my pre-coffee enjoyment. I call it Fair Trade Organic Caffeine Dedication.I do live in the Pacific North West after all; and besides bottled water wars,plastic bans and all other eco related rights-- Coffee is what we take most seriously. Which brings me back to my kettle.
So after I've pre-rinsed the filter to get the paper taste out (as to not alter the taste of my beloved nectar of life) and set up the drip cone atop the glass coffee maker on the stove burner, I sleepily attend to my other a.m. tasks. Pet the cat, check my email and social media accounts, get lost in thoughts of the to do's of the day, attending to the calls of nature-- when the kettle starts its cry. My kettle doesn't whistle, it wails. That dramatic little turquoise bitch spits and sputters water and screams as though it's auditioning for the role of epileptic ambulance in an art students mid-term activism project. It turns my morning coffee into a Mourning Coffee. I hurry to make the awfulness stop, and I apologize to my kettle for causing it pain. It seems appropriate somehow. And then the making of the coffee commences. And all will be alright in the world, in five more minutes. As I snuggle with my first cup on my front porch, the glorious has begun.

~A