I went with Nick Saturday morning to take his parents to the airport. They are spending much of this month in Florida, and I lamented that I have been out of regular Yoga practice just long enough that I couldn't fold down to the size of a piece of carry on luggage comfortably. The alarm sounded at 3:45 and we readied to enter the frigidly cold morning. Afterwards, sitting in a Perkins (because what else is open before 5:00?), and listening to me moan into my first cup of coffee, Nick said, "I was surprised you didn't have coffee ready before we left."

"I knew I wouldn't have time to enjoy it," I replied. You see, for me, coffee is not a caffeine burst, or a surge of warmth to guard against Morning's chill. I cannot simply brew a pot and fill a traveling coffee mug and call 'er done...I'd rather skip it altogether than to treat it so nonchalantly.

I like it in a large mug, with a capacity of 16oz or more. I like to be able to hold it with both hands, the surface almost burning my palms and fingers as the heat slowly move to my wrists, elbows and shoulders...I feel the heat at the center of my chest and down my spine. I lower my head over the rim and let the steam caress my face. Breath in. Out. That first cup is the best, most sensual part of my day.

I will not be rushed.