Nectar of the Gods

I was just chasing the fair maiden around the deep forest one more time when the piecing alarm woke me completely up.

I’m the type of guy who likes to wake up gradually at an easy, soft pace. My days of shooting right up to the sound of an alarm clock ended the day after I retired.

Even in those first few seconds and with the alarm still beeping in my ears, my mind was semi-registering that this was a “new” beep. It wasn’t the smoke detector or the carbon monoxide detector, and it most certainly was not the ring camera.

Stumbling out to where the sound was coming from in the kitchen and with the morning sunlight closing my still not quite open eyes, I found the source of this audible aggravation.

It was the coffee machine! Or more accurately, the floor nearest to where the coffee machine sits. We had installed a moisture detector behind the fridge hoping to never have to use it (or hear its alarm). If it ever went off, we were to assume the refrigerator had sprung a leak leading to ice melting, food going bad, and a big dollar repair or replacement.

Instead, it was far worse. Though I had done my job of filling the water and the grounds, the night before we had all forgotten that the glass pot was still in the dishwasher. Add to that, on the days we watch our grandson, we set the machine to go off at an earlier set time instead of whoever makes it to the kitchen first.

Well, the black silk (my pet term for my wonderful coffee) had already worked its way down the cabinet and onto the floor, setting off the alarm. Now I was fully awake and in full panic mode!

Sure, there would be a mess and then a cleanup in every nook and cranny, but what seriously was upsetting me was that my first morning cup of silk would be delayed. Its liquid magic would be lagging to do its kick-start to my mind and body.

So dependent, yes, addicted to this nectar of the Gods that three or four hours later, I was still shuddering at how close I came to be un-caffeinated to start my day.

It wasn’t always like this. I had never needed coffee growing up. Made it through all my school years with nary a drop. My first adult job had been managing a movie theatre. No sense in loading up on the caffeine when my working hours were towards the end of everybody else’s day. The last thing I needed was to be wide awake deep in the bewitching hours.

That all changed when I went to work for the LIRR. Coffee kept me alert and on the ball. Coffee was the “coin of the realm,” the social lubricant; if a crew or even a boss wanted to talk to the Yardmaster (me) about anything, they more often than not had a cup of java in their hand as a calling card.

My last job was a long one. I still shudder at the amount of silk I drank during those days. Finishing my very early daily morning commute involved a 10-block walk on dark New York City streets. But before I opened my office, I stopped at a coffee stand under a street lamp and got my first cup with a bran muffin to go.

Once the workday started, the coffee kept coming—from our office machine and everywhere else. I would guess I consumed six cups or more almost every day.

The day I retired, I tried to cut down my consumption of the black silk drastically. Honestly, the first few months didn’t go so well, but after a while I managed to find a happy medium of two cups in the morning hours and another in the late afternoon.

But last week, I saw a news item that not only is five or six cups of coffee  good for you but,  actually very beneficial to your health. Now they tell me!

Brian Curry is a longtime Long Island Advance columnist and a three-time winner of the New York State Press Association’s “Column of the Year”. You can contact him at currypointofview@yahoo.com