The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

I love the holidays. I sometimes think I live for when the calendar turns to November and I can try out all the recipies I've collected. I love to pull out the baking flour, sugar, butter, eggs, and create magic. I am like any good artist, once I come up with a masterpiece, I want to share it. My love of people and love of the holidays and fellowships make our house a little full and a little crazy from Thanksgiving to Kwanzaa. It is joyous to me to hear the mingling of soprano voices with tenor voices, all creating a beautiful symphony. I can turn and see little ones and old ones and every mix in between. It is a favorite time of year. This year, as usual, Thanksgiving started the holiday season. We have been downsized as one son is in the Navy and the other is in college. They couldn't make it home so my youngest son was elevated to the role of oldest and designated kiddie entertainer. He eagerly took on his role unil the little munchkins proved to multiply and be...

I wake up in the morning with one eye open. Sleep is a negative in my rest bank account. It is 5:30am according to the fluorescent blue of my cell phone clock. The room was still dark, the reminder that the Midwest is part of that dreaded "daylight savings time" and even a month later, my body is still not adjusted. My eyes are instantly assaulted with the bare light bulb glare of my husband's closet just to the left of the bed. Who really runs at this hour in the last days of November? I mumble a groggy, caffeine-deprived good morning and stumble to the adjacent bathroom. After I complete that description-not-needed morning ritual, I brush the fuzzies off my teeth, splash cold water on my face, and make the trek downstairs in this mid-century home. Every step on the old steps creaked under my weight and I'm only a buck forty. I debated on turning on the kitchen light when my indecision was solved when my husband, winter running gear-clad, flicked the switch, flicked ...