The grind — Genie Alisa

Every morning I make a pot of coffee. Over the last year, I've become a bit of a coffee snob, though, so I grind my beans with a manual burr grinder and use a French press for exactly four minutes.

While the water is boiling in my kettle, I have to grind the beans. I use a manual grinder because it makes a far superior grind than any electric grinder I've used. Also, because I'm doing this while other people are still sleeping in my living room, I try to avoid the cacophony of an electric grinder before 8am.

It takes almost exactly the same amount of time to grind the beans as it does for the kettle to boil. Logic would say that I should turn the kettle on and then get to grinding. But as I walk around the kitchen grinding beans, my mind thinks of everything else in the world I should be doing besides grinding beans.

Put the dogs out. Check the weather. Check the fridge for breakfast items. Empty Rich's foley bags. Look up how to spell something.

And when the water has boiled, I have no coffee grounds. And it screws up my whole morning routine because I have to keep going back to the grinder and end up with cold eggs, cold coffee, and a harried breakfast experience.

My mother used to talk about getting her nails done for an hour and wishing she could just hand over her hands but still be able to do things during that hour. Apparently, I come by this naturally.

As uncomfortable as it is, I'm forcing myself to stick to the task at hand without distraction of what comes next. I'm not so great at it, but over the last year I've seen the pros and cons of each method.

This portion of hospice is a grind. My hands and mind and heart are busy now with the most mundane of tasks. Changing chuck pads. Dosing Ativan. Cleaning Rich's lips and teeth. Doing laundry. They have to get done. Trying to do several things at once just leads to confusion and cold eggs.

It's hard because a dying man reverts back to infant stages but without all those features that make babies great. Newborns smell amazing because the survival of the species depends on it. Dying people do not smell amazing. They do occasionally call out "Mom" or smile, but it's not quite the same.

I need to just keep grinding until the handle turns freely.