Coffee Grounds, Bald Eagles, and Solace

Things I am grateful for this week.

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Bald Eagle Cam

After several days of declining self-esteem, my friend sent me a link to a livestream of a bald eagle nest in Big Bear, California. The birds roost in a nest that has a camera inside of it. Inside the nest are eggs, which many believe are goners. Yet the birds continue to sit. Thousands watch the eagles eat fish, take turns watching the nest, and ruffle their feathers. “They do this thing where they just stick their whole heads down to the ground and scoot their butts onto the eggs”¹. No one knows when the birds will realize what we know. No one knows when the video will end. Snow surrounds the nest. It looks like a powdered doughnut. 

How / Are / You?

What individual word you emphasize in the question “How are you?” changes both the tone and the object of curiosity. Across all permutations, however, the question is motivated by care. 

Coffee Grounds

I hate coffee grounds. The bits of oil that come off the ground beans² stick to every surface. After inheriting an espresso machine from my sister and brother-in-law, I have gone off the deep end: modding the grinder, ordering parts from Europe, and soliciting strange, fermented beans from an enthusiast up north³. Yet, the counter continues to collect coffee-dust. Last Sunday, I deep cleaned the entire set-up, the stench of isopropyl alcohol clinging to everything, microfiber towels freckled with debris. The next morning I made myself an iced Americano without a second thought.

“Turtle” by Luc Tuymans

I didn’t know this painting was named “Turtle”. I saw something different⁴. I enjoy it more. 

I heard…

I heard that there are secret coves in San Pedro. I heard that San Pedro is the new old Venice — and that it is molting the San Pedro off itself (to become the new new Venice). The city has a large, copper bell, and everyone loves it. It has its own roof. The bell is Korean, even. I won’t fact-check this; I am only telling you what I have heard. Supposedly, San Pedro’s citizens are hoarding the whereabouts of a secret beach privy to only citizens of San Pedro. If you live in San Pedro and know of this secret cove, tell me. Share your swell. I may move in. 

Solace

During the lowest points of lockdown, hope became so abstract that nurturing it felt more harmful than inspiring. To this day, I opt for solace in place of hope. Solace is immediate. Shifting my focus to solace shifts my focus to reality; I must parse through it. Solace is not a precursor to hope nor is it mutually exclusive to hope. Solace is noticing the beams of sunlight slicing through the overhang of leaves that shade me — and being thankful for both the tree and the harsh sun it protects. 

Sunday Glass of Water

One of the many reasons I feel horrible⁵ is that I don’t drink enough water. I ramble around town like a strip of beef jerky picked up at a gas station. I’m a mess. A glass of water, to be enjoyed for the sole purpose of drinking a glass of water, in the early hours of Sunday, preferably by a window open to the offset blue sun is a gift. I sip and write. I sip and look out. I sip and think as the water meets me at room temperature. I feel my biology and sit inside it. 

1. Quote from Elisha Knight.

2. This is called “CHAFF”. 

3. Hydrangea Coffee rules.

4. Disintegration.

5. Most days!