Coffee Challenge - Week 2

My goal is to have at least half a cup of coffee everyday. Two days this week I had nearly a whole cup. I took that as a sign that I no longer find the drink repulsive. However, one day I forgot to have any coffee at all until 10:00 PM. I threw caution to the wind and made myself a cup of goodnight coffee and downed it just before hopping into my bed. Ready to pay the price and face a sleepless night, I placed my laptop and a book on my nightstand. I was sound asleep within ten minutes.

Either I am immune to the awake power of the coffee bean, or coffee's dependability for alertness is a myth. Not sure which one yet.

Of course, I might just be super-duper tired because both of my boys are currently fifteen. Just the memory of birthing two people within one year is nap inducing.

Boy Shoes

"You know how my birthday is coming up?" Josiah asked.
"Yeah."
"And you know how my Osiris shoes are falling apart?"
"Yes. I've noticed that they are mostly duct tape and your feet slide out the side when you walk too fast."
"Well, I'm thinking that on my next birthday, not the one this year, but on the next one, I might want some new Osiris tennis shoes."
"You don't think you want them for this birthday? Do you want to take a year off of those kind of shoes?"
"No. I think my current shoes have another year in them."

I guess we could spoil him a little bit more.

Coffee Challenge - Week 1

After a solid week of drinking almost a half of a cup of coffee every day I have discovered:

1. Coffee truly does taste like the runoff of ground up beans boiled in water. I am still trying to discover how this is a good thing.

2. To be a coffee drinker, I must have gum and mints easily accessible at all times. Coffee breath is wretched and persistent.

3. The smell of coffee filling my house makes me happy.

One week down, and still going strong.

Coffee Troubles

I love so many things about coffee. The smell is absolutely my favorite. I could sniff it all day. I love the culture that goes with coffee. I love the coffee shops and the coffee language. I love to describe a drink as robust or bright. I love the excitement people feel when they discuss how to obtain a cup of coffee, and I love the look of pleasure on their faces once that hot cup is in their hands.

I just hate one thing. The taste.

I truly hate the taste of coffee. People have told me that I would like it if it was sugared up, creamed up, covered up, etc. I don't. I don't even like it in ice cream. I can taste it in frosting, rolls, cakes, and hot chocolate. It disgusts me. I feel like scraping my tongue with a comb after tasting coffee.

This is a problem that seems overcome-able.

I so much want to like coffee. I want to be excited and devise clever ways to obtain coffee. I want to drive through a coffee shop on my way to church and show up late with a hot cup of coffee that makes everyone else wish they had done the same thing. I want that look of pleasure on my face. I want an excuse to feel tired - that look that says, "I haven't had my coffee yet, so I'm going to be grumpy now."

Inspiration struck last Saturday. We were hanging out with some good friends, and suddenly I realized that these people were the solution to my problem.

"Hey!" I cried, "You own a coffee shop! Help me like coffee!"

So, on Tuesday I went to their roasterie for a cupping. A cupping is when someone who knows what they are doing prepares small amounts of different kinds of coffee for you to sample and rate which kinds you like more or less. I took a tour of their roasterie and learned the science behind coffee roasting, which is complex and wonderful.

Roaster

Bag of beans from Sumatra

Gary, my coffee educator, can tell from a single sip where in the world that particular coffee bean was grown. He can tell the amount of time the bean was roasted for and if it was roasted properly. He is a coffee wizard.

He made me some coffee and I tried it. I wanted a comb to scrape my tongue. He told me that was normal. Coffee is an acquired taste. I tasted a different kind. It was mildly better. Then he put sugar and cream into the drink and I didn't want to spit it out.

"Sugar brings out the natural flavors the coffee possesses," he told me.
"However," I told him, "I don't want to add calories and fat to it. I just want to like it straight."
"That's not going to happen."
"Challenge accepted!"

So he sent me home with the least disgusting flavor and a fascinating tool with which to make the stuff. I put to good use my special mug my daughter made me for Christmas, and I have had almost half a cup of coffee for the last two mornings. I, Sharla Hintz, will learn to like coffee, and I will like it straight up. 

Arrow Rug

Drake, my fourteen year old son, graciously offered to help me rid our house of Christmas decorations. As I stood on a ladder removing plastic pine branches from the center pole and tossing them to Drake, he squished them flat and put them into a huge cardboard box. My dog, Arrow, thought this was a giant game of keep-away in which he was the central player.

"When all of us kids grow up and move away can I have Arrow?" Drake asked.
"If he is still alive," I answered, although I can't imagine a time when the house is quiet and empty.
"I still want him even if he is dead."
"Um, that's not possible."
"Yes it is. I'll have him made into a rug."
"A rug?"
"Yeah. Like they do with bears. It would be awesome to have an Arrow rug. It would be so soft."
"An Arrow rug?"
"Yeah. They could even keep his head on and use blue marbles for his eyes."
"Drake, go look up the word morbid, and then don't be it."
"It's not morbid to keep your dog as a rug after he dies. It's just keeping him around longer."
"I'm not sure that is even allowed."
"It has to be. I've seen bear rugs."
"I don't think you would have any friends in your community if you had an Arrow rug. The kids would call you Old Man Hintz and dare each other to knock on your door."
"Old Man and Old Lady Hintz. I'm going to be married when I'm old."
"Not if you have an Arrow rug."
"Don't worry, Mom. I'm going to get married before I get weird."

These are the conversations that keep me awake at night. 

Husky Ride Along

I have a hard time saying no to my dog. It's his eyes. I'm helpless against them.

Once, I let him ride with me to pick Drake up from swimming practice. Then I let him ride with me to pick up some prescriptions at Walgreens. Now I can't keep him out of my car.

When I open my front door, he pushes in front of me and dashes to the car. He can Houdini himself through a car door opening of only a few inches. Once inside, it is nearly impossible to remove the husky. If I try to pull him out, he just hops to another seat. If I walk around to that side of the car and open the door nearest him, he simply hops to another seat. We can play this game for a very long time. He never tires of it.

I am convinced that I am a wonderful person when Arrow is in the car with me. He emanates such joy, the air almost vibrates. He lays his head on my shoulder. He presses his side to my arm in a slamming hug. He squeezes into my seat with me. That part is inconvenient.

When I accidentally left my phone in my car, I didn't think too much about running out to grab it. But Arrow did.

I was preoccupied with the hamburger browning on the stove, so I didn't notice Arrow following me like a shadow. When I opened the passenger door, he catapulted over my head and landed smugly in the passenger seat. I grabbed my phone and called Arrow so we could go back inside, but he simply gave me the I'm Going With You stare-down. I tried to pull him, but he was too quick and moved to the driver's seat. Then I charaded walking back into the house. But he did not follow.

I left the car door open and returned to my browning hamburger. Arrow stayed out there for three hours.

I'm not sure who won that battle of wills.