Coffee tastes really, really good this morning. That's one thing about drinking so little coffee these days: my delight in my small cup has increased exponentially. I enjoy it so. And on Saturdays I get two small cups! 

There's nothing extraordinary about how I make coffee--just freshly ground beans poured into a French press--and I drink it black. It's the plainest of beverages. Still, it can feel like an elixir--not because of the caffeine jolt, which for me is minimal. I think the magic arises from an olio of fragrance, bitterness, warmth, and ritual.

I detest ice coffee. Occasionally, when I'm out, I'll drink a cappuccino, but mostly I'm not too interested in coffee as lusciousness. I like the starkness of black coffee, the bite, the lack of fussiness. Heat of a rounded cup in my hands. Click of cup against saucer. The privacy of the moment . . . the only body awake in the house, breathing into steam and scent. The friendliness . . . carrying a hot cup upstairs to set beside drowsy Tom.

Last night we walked up to the new local barbecue place with our neighbor. The restaurant was packed with families and couples; we were glad to see such a buzz since the previous occupant (another barbecue joint) had been a dud. Portland overflows with great restaurants, but most are on the peninsula (the busy part of the city: downtown, Bayside, the East and West ends, the waterfront). Our neighborhood, Deering Center, is city-residential--not suburban but not densely urban either: houses close together but most with small yards; a mix of single- and multi-family structures, sidewalks and schools and big trees--walkable, busy, people of many ages. It's a low-key Mainer version of old-timey Brooklyn, yet oddly there are not quite enough interesting places to go out to eat, given that it's got a population that's definitely ready to do so. Thus, it was pleasant to walk around in the cold for a while, talking of this and that; then tuck ourselves into a cheerful, crowded room and eat brisket and drink beer and overhear a hundred other neighbors also being jovial.

I've decided that this weekend is going to be my turning point: I am going to figure out a way to cheer up, and so far I'm doing well in that regard. Brisket! Followed by good sleep! Followed by the best coffee! Yesterday I did a little holiday shopping and managed not to torment myself too much. I bought a set of good-quality sheets for our bed--Merry Christmas to us. I drove a car that didn't make any strange noises at all. I listened to one of Ray's mix CDs as I drove and I cried in a happy way. In the afternoon I talked hard with Teresa and Jeannie about the poem-writing project we've embarked on. Look how well things are going! Look how many exclamation points have shown up in this letter . . . well, perhaps that's the coffee talking, but try to take it as hope and good intentions.