Slowpokes

Driving the kids to school, I got caught behind a slowpoke this morning. Twice, coming and going. It's a narrow highway, just the two lanes between a rock wall and a lake; passing is not only illegal, it's suicidal. So if there's a slowpoke at the head of the line, you're stuck. You can't do anything but slowpoke along behind them, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel, grumbling to yourself under your breath, wishing you had passed them back in town on the four-laned part of the highway. You keep checking your speedometer - we're going 75kmh, c'mon, grandma, this is an 80-zone! If you're too unsure of your driving to go the legal speed limit, maybe you should stay at home, or better yet, hand in your driver's license! This road isn't so scary as all that, c'mon, you're holding up traffic! Sheesh, now we're down to 70! Give me a break!

But then, today, on the way back, I decided to quit those compulsive glances at the speedometer. It sure wasn't making the slow driver two cars ahead of me speed up any. And really, it's a gorgeous day for a drive today. To my right, out of the corner of my eye, I see the lake glittering in the sun with all its might. The bushes on shore are shrouded in their best spring green, the sunshine makes the rocks gleam rosy-pink, setting off the dark green of the Ponderosa Pines which hold so precariously onto the cracks and crevices they've sprung from. I take the time to actually listen to the radio show I've got playing: Tom Power is witty as always, and I sure enjoy the songs he's choosing today. Lovely guitar intro to that one!

Oh, and what do you know, here we are at the turn-off. The highway widens to four lanes again, slowpoke gets into the right, I veer left because I need to drive up the hill to get to my house. They've probably cost me all of thirty seconds with their slowpokishness. Thirty seconds of increased enjoyment in my drive, and a pleasant feeling of smugness brought on by my having conquered the impatience monster.

I'll tell you about tailgaters some other time - you know, those annoying drivers that sit on your bumper, their impatience practically boring into the back of your neck. Pushy idiots.

Life, the Universe, and Slowpokes. It really is a lovely day today.

World's Best Cup of Coffee

World's Best Cup of Rooibos Tea

I heard on the radio this morning that a barrista from Toronto is going to be representing Canada in the "World's Best Cup of Coffee" contest in Australia. Well, congratulations, Josh Whatever-your-name-is. I sincerely hope you have a marvellous time in Oz, whether you win or not.

But it got me to thinking: how silly is that? World's best cup of coffee? What a strange society we live in. Everything we do, everything that exists, must be graded on a scale from bad to good, with one item, and one only, at the very apex as "world's best". One "best cup of coffee". We set up committees (lots of doubled letters in that word. Almost like Mississippi. World's most-overloaded-with-double-letters word?) to determine just which cup of coffee is THE best - the BEST! - which means we have to determine who is the best coffee taster in the world - because obviously, only the best coffee taster can determine the best cup of coffee. So now we have the apex of the human pyramid, with ultra-coffee-taster at the very top, far above the dull and witless masses who are only able to enjoy their ordinary, un-best, dull and witless coffee (by the potful, no less), not comprehending the quality, the sheer superiority of the Best Cup of Coffee (note caps).

But, wait - the witless masses enjoy their coffee. That first sip from your favourite mug, poured from a freshly brewed pot of the roast you like best, on a morning when you're still half asleep, but the birds are chirping outside in the sunshine because spring has finally arrived - I defy any barrista, even the national coffee-making champion, to brew a cup to match that bliss. Okay, I'm talking just a little bit through my hat here (or through my teacup, as it were) - I don't drink coffee, never have. So the "you" in that preceding sentence is intentional - it's your first sip of coffee, not mine. Mine's the sip of tea, of which I consume gallons (being a confirmed teaist). But the principle is the same.

Because, you see - there is no "world's best cup of coffee", at least not one that everyone, everywhere will agree on. World's best cup of coffee was not, as my favourite radio show host would have it, brewed yesterday in Toronto, and it won't be brewed sometime next week (or whenever that contest is held) in Australia. World's best cup of coffee, if you're lucky, will be brewed in your coffeemaker, by you, maybe even today. And again tomorrow. And the day after that. Or maybe your husband will brew it for you. Now that would take it right over the top. A blissful hot drink, served to you by the person you love best - it doesn't get better than that.

Sorry, champion barrista - I'm sure you make an amazingly good cup of coffee (at least good for those who like coffee). But it's not the world's best. It can't be. Because the best cup of coffee is the one right here, right now. As is the best cup of tea, the best piece of cake, the best bout of lovemaking. There is no apex to the pyramid, because it's not a pyramid. It's about the here and now. Best is what I have today. And perhaps tomorrow, or the day after. Best is mine.

Life, the Universe, and World's Best Cup of Coffee. Pass the tea, please.