My Best Friend


Staring at my coffee maker waiting for it to trickle out my first cup of coffee, I suddenly realize that I anticipate this steaming beverage like the arrival of a long lost friend. The seconds it took to brew found me antsy as I waited to wrap my hand around that hot mug.  I am addiction to coffee, an addition I freely submit to.  I love the caffeine wake up buzz, but it is so much more than that.  Coffee is the friend that has been present for every event in my adult life.  It has jump started me in the morning, calmed me when I’ve been upset, and has been my reading buddy for literally every book I have read in the last 35 years.  Coffee is a constant and dependable factor in my life.  It has varied in strength, temperature and quality but it has always been there, good, bad and every form in between.  Whereas a sunset can bring out the poet or romantic, coffee brings out my focus, it somehow says “you can do it, it will be okay, just look around and focus.”  In my head I know that my coffee friendship is a figment of my imagination, but that doesn’t matter.  A cup of coffee gives me what a good friend can, hope, direction and the push to do what needs to be done.  I wonder how many people through the centuries have come to make friends with this brown colored liquid.  It can be served in so many different ways and that makes it the perfect companion for the masses that partake of it.  I love to watch and listen to people as they order their coffee drinks.  The drink they order is as unique as the person who is drinking it. Expresso, lattes, mocha’s Americano, skinny, frappe, iced, sugar and cream to name a few.  I have had all of the fore mentioned but hot black coffee is my favorite way to interact with this friend.  I remember my grandmother telling about the ration coupons during WWII and coffee was one of the things that was in short supply.  I can’t imagine that being the case for me but I know that a day may come when I am no longer able to drink from this cup of friendship, so for now I will enjoy my friend for as long as I can and continue to share my memories with my best bud, Coffee.  Friendship in a nutshell, or in this case…a bean~

Book excerpt from The Granny Monologue by Cindi Walton


It started out as a normal Tuesday.  I use the word “normal” loosely since no one has their boobs squeezed by a machine every Tuesday as far as I recall, but the point is this; I didn’t see that damn bus coming. The one that hit me and I do mean that literally.  I was indeed hit by a bus, it may have belonged to the local nursing home, but it was a bus all the same and it changed my world forever.

        ~ Crap Happens ~

We’ve all used the phrase, “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus” to describe how our bodies feel when we hurt from one end to the other.  I’m here to enlighten you, when you’re actually hit by a bus, the pain is not evenly disbursed.  I can now speak as an authority on such matters.  Eight weeks ago, after completing my annual Pap smear and mammogram, I left my gynecologist’s office and stepped smack dab in front of the local nursing home transport bus.  I won’t bore you with the initial details, but I was told, “I swore like a sailor, asked Jesus to save me, and then requested that the attending paramedic fetch my purse.”   I’d stuffed my brassiere in the side pocket of the darn thing since I was heading straight home.  In my defense, I highly doubt the person who witnessed my accident had ever been in the presence of a cursing sailor, thus making their judgement about my outburst irrelevant.  This was one of those days when crap happens and you can’t possibly begin to imagine the twist and turns of fate that await you.  It didn’t take long for me to realize I’d never look in the mirror and see myself as I did prior to making that particular bus connection.  I had left the house that fateful Tuesday, a woman who’d just turned sixty the week before and had never felt better or more alive in my entire life.  In the course of one day, one event and one hospital stay…I’d been diagnosed as “Old!”  Now I want you to keep in mind this diagnosis was not made by any health professional that had part of the alphabet behind their name.  There was no MD, DO, or PhD, but rather the word “aide.”

I guess I should back up and give you the Reader’s Digest version of what happened once they scraped me off the pavement and transported me to the hospital, which was just across the street from where I was hit.  I guess you could say I was strategically located in the perfect location if one chooses to walk in front of a moving vehicle.  Once I was delivered to the emergency room, it was quickly discovered that I had broken my left hip and femur, fractured my right wrist and managed to do a number on my neck and shoulders.  Quite clearly I was “up a creek without a paddle” not that I could’ve paddled my way out of this mess if I’d wanted to.  My husband was summoned, surgeries ensued and my world was suddenly a Broadway production with me starring in the lead role.