A Life Measured With Coffee Spoons

I’ve often wondered what T.S. Eliot meant by a life measured with coffee spoons. Was The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock  a lament to time lost in the doldrums of watching others live a fuller life or a reminder for us to see the extraordinary in our own ordinary.  That’s sort of the beauty in poetry, it’s a kaleidoscope of words in which we each see different things. Right?

A friend recently sent me a gift with the quote on it.

A Life Measured In Coffee Spoons

I’m sure this had something to do with my famed addiction to coffee. But, as I sat and thought about it the gift took on a deeper meaning, making me realize how profound a cup of coffee can be.

Slowly circling the cup, pulling along a snowy wake of frothed milk, the spoon sings a quiet tune. The sound of daydreams, of new adventures, of deep longing and fruitless introspection. 

In cups ornate and plain, chipped on occasion stained, the spoon omnipresent. I’ve stirred with a view of the sun rising upon the Duomo, clicked steel on china while watching sheep graze in a misty Irish haze.  Sleeping children have heaved blissful sighs as the spoon turned on. Words and tears have flowed to the dulcet drone.

I choose to believe in the everyday extraordinary. In a beautiful life measured in coffee spoons. Though I’ve recently switched to tea.

 

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