I'd rather be

There's a watery sun peeking through the cloudy half of the sky in Seattle this morning. It's amazing that there's a cloudy half and a clear half, since usually you can't tell if it's dawn, dusk or midday. 

The orchid on the kitchen counter was maneuvered into the sun spot. I am sorry, little phalaenopsis, that you're trying to grow in this environment which is way too cold to be natural, in your humble opinion. Not to mention that you were plucked from a different kitchen counter during an estate sale, having not been watered in Lord knows how long; you lost a leaf when I picked up your pot and the rest of your leaves were yellow and wrinkled. I thought five bucks was pretty pricey for a half-dead orchid, since you can buy a big healthy one off the sidewalk in Miami for that, provided the flowers aren't too fancy. But you lived! After one watering, your leaves turned green and I was smug. The Plant Whisperer! Imagine my horror when I saw that the new mysterious brown spots on your leaves were caused by direct contact with the frigid glass of the kitchen window. You now sit safely about 3 inches away, and today you have sun. 

That was a total aside. An ode to the orchid, a tropical critter who's not supposed to be here. I could solemnly relate, if it wasn't so silly. 

So as I drink coffee and stare vacantly at the exams I'm supposed to be grading, I start thinking about the rooms and people I'd rather be experiencing as I caffeinate. 

My mom's family room - where the sun usually shines through the sliding glass doors that look out onto one of those large man-made lakes that developers are so keen on digging in South Florida. Maybe the TV would be on, to the History Channel or MSNBC and we'd talk about The Politics. Or my mom would ask me if, in my scientific opinion, I think it's possible that aliens have visited Earth. I tell her no, I don't think so. And she huffs and says she thinks they might have, because Stonehenge. 

Maria and Vince's porch - Good conversation, GOOD coffee, chuckles/hysterics and an easy pace, grassy smell of heat and the weight of the moisture in the air, the way only inland central Florida manages. Sometimes the leggy Sandhill Cranes will suddenly become cogniscant of the fact that they used to be dinosaurs and shriek. 

I usually call my mom when I'm having coffee on the weekends. My eyes unfocus and I experience wisps of feeling like I'm in two places at once. Cool tile chilling my feet, a dog's wet nose, squinting into the sunlight outside, looking into the kitchen. "The dogs have to go out"
The eyes refocus; there's my fish tank, the fire place, the Mexican art, the cup of coffee and the phone.