In Ohio I started drinking my coffee black, up until then it had been light and sweet regular coffee in New York City. Hospitals have the best coffee, that my not be such a universal truth anymore as espresso carts are taking over the lobby and Starbucks has caught wind a great marketing opportunity. So many people empolyed in the effort to prevent early checkout or makeing the most of life altering situations. Everyone from business to surgery works long hours sustained by caffeine predominately in the form of coffee. Then there are the visitors, the other portion of the cafeterias clientele, they pay full price but can usually get a free refill. You need the caffeine to help when keeping vigil, just in case a doctor graces the room with his presence, you must be ready as the opportunity to ask the gnawing questions may not present itself again. The coffee they brew on the floors for the patients is not the same, in fact at meals that would be the number one complaint, "the coffee is awful". Especially the thickened instant coffee; or patients who already are having trouble swallowing this is guaranteed to make one gag. "It is better than nothing", I try to console, no one seems to be buying this. I hope Mrs. S has finally had her coffee she left for an extended care facility. All she wanted was one strong cup of hot black coffee. She said milk masks the taste, by the time ones late eighties foll around the pretence of milk is unnecessary. Open and honest, without pretension, living life like a cup of hospital coffee...black.

First Snow in Mansfield

Okay I'll be the first to admit it. I was compelled to got outside to day, I was due for a little exercise and yes I stuck out my tongue to catch the falling snowflakes. It has been about five years since I have been anywhere near the snow and that was for a weekend ski trip where the temperatures topped sixty degrees. It has been more like eight years since I have been outside when it is actively snowing.
Okay so nothing is sticking to the ground yet. I put on my green hat and leopard print gloves, my scarf and my jacket and a pair of closed toed shoes and made my way down the hill. I followed the rivulets of runoff, the iridescent streams composed of oil and other toxic fluids from the parking lots. As I pass the mailboxes I am keenly aware my shoes are not waterproof. My toes were just cold but now they are indeed wet. Time to turn around.
Okay so the lady pulling into the otherwise deserted complex looked at me like I was crazy to be out in the cold. As I passed her getting out of her car she asked me where I had bought my hat. I replied, I've had it forever, I really can't remember (not entirely true because it must have come from California where hats such as this one are more for fashion and less about function). “It's a nice one”, she said. “You know”, I remembered suddenly, “My sister gave it to me for my birthday a while back”. This is entirely true, she had bought me the perfect green knit hat for Christmas one year, it is not easy to find the perfect hat, I promptly lost it on a bus leaving New York City. The next year for my birthday she found me this one, only a close imitation of the first but it was sweet of her to remember.
Okay so I walk back up to my building wondering if the rivulets will be frozen in the morning and noticing my jacket is wet. It is snowing harder and I am glad I decided not to take a long walk. The warmth of reentering my apartment makes the cold worth it. Snow I am remembering, is best enjoyed from the inside looking out, but then of course it is much harder to catch with your tongue.