I had settled in to my chair at the dining room table with my second cup of coffee. I brew it dark, and strong and with only a splash of milk that I can never taste over the richness of the coffee. If I did taste it , I had used too much. But habits are habits. While sitting there sipping the hot liquid in tiny sips, I discovered I was absent mindedly tracing the pattern of the wood grain in the table with my free hand. As newly weds, we had bought this table nearly 30 years ago, unfinished and some assembly required. It was solid oak and I had carefully sanded it smooth, stained it, until it developed the rich dark color which could only highlight the beauty of the grains running through the wood. I said dark, but it was much lighter than the hot liquid in my cup. A few coats of Tung oil were rubbed in as I never cared much for varnish; Tung oil protects the wood better and gives a sheen that to date still satisfies the eyes and touch.

Getting back to the story, as I was tracing the grain, I slowly came to realize that even though this was my second cup, I had yet to feel as though I was awake. I had things I needed to remember and plans to make. Yet here I was sipping coffee and playing with the wood grain on the table. And very content to be doing so. Experience has taught me that, for me, waking up is not a relatively quick occurrence. Oh, I can go through the motions quite well and fool most people, automatically preforming actions that simulate awareness and intelligence, but I cannot fool myself. I know it takes the better part of a morning and more that a cup of coffee or two to fully achieve the mental state necessary to establish a coherent thinking equilibrium. But sitting there at the table, idling away the minutes while my coffee cooled enough for me to enjoy bigger sips, I merely enjoyed the moment for what it was; a quiet reflection on the beauty of the wood grain in the table. A chance to slow the world down before it became a hectic day and the peacefulness of the morning lost to a waking mind.