Monday, Monday . . . coffee in bed, please.

quote. It's Monday. Coffee in bed, please. Val

cabindoorcoffee.wordpress.com

Boots here with some Monday morning cheer.  This little pup knows how to make snoozing look pretty darned luxurious.  Coffee in bed, indeed!

I don t know about you but come Monday morning, the thought of adding another morning to the weekend, reserved for sleeping in and a second cup of coffee sounds pretty good.

For this Monday morning, think about treating yourself to some caffeinated sunshine.  Go to your favorite coffee shop and order that fancy latte that you have been thinking of ordering.  Go in to work a few minutes later, should that be an option.   Linger over the newspaper for a few more minutes.  Order a doughnut at that crazy-good doughnut shop that everyone is always raving about . . . what a fun way to salute the week.  Sometimes you just gots to step out of the day-to-day routine of healthy-eating discipline and order a doughnut.

Today?  Make it extraordinary.  Me?  I am thinking about one or three things that I plan to do that will make my day even better.  I am going to take the wobble out of my favorite music stand, chase some sunshine, go on my Meditation Walk, and organize some writing.  One thing I know I am going to do is make a fantastic caramel mocha, put my feet up on my desk, watch some fun youtube videos, and just while away a few moments while I drink my coffee . . . all of this to be woven into my day of honest labor.  There are days that feel as if “work” has robbed the hours from my good intentions . . . but not today.  Today is reserved for Extraordinary.

And about the time that you think life is just one work day after another, take some sunshine into the workplace with you.  Do something nutty.  Dance like a long-armed, 3-toed sloth in front of a co-worker who won’t understand.  Wear your shirt backward.  Mismatch your socks.  Braid your hair into pigtails.  Wear only one earring.  Pick a bouquet of dandelions and give them to a co-worker.  Smile at every single person you see today.  Stand up and stretch, on the hour.  I don’t know . . . just do something to make the day memorable and good.  Drink good coffee — that always helps make the day a happy place for me.

And check out some of these fun Monday morning coffee treats and accessories. Life truly is but a breath.  Enjoy yourself and be kind one to another.   Click on the images (or the links) below and have fun doing some imagining on this Monday morning.

. . . AND scroll to the bottom to listen to an AWESOME Monday morning song!  Make today all you hope it will be .

Wild Republic Hanging 3 Toed Sloth


http://amzn.to/2aFxkc3

Torani Lavender Syrup, 750 ml Bottle. . . add to a white mocha.  Yummy!


http://amzn.to/2b6UTw7

Ghirardelli Chocolate Chocolate Flavored Sauce Squeeze Bottle, 16 fl. oz.


http://amzn.to/2aFvNTF

Retro Spoofs Workaholics Thank God It’s Monday


http://amzn.to/2aZII3D

Now Panic and Freak Out


http://amzn.to/2aFqTsi

Keep Calm and Drink Coffee


http://amzn.to/2b6Wj9U

Thermik Handle for Tumblers

http://amzn.to/2aFx3pA

kate spade new york Thermal Mug – Cold Hands Warm Heart


http://amzn.to/2aTnLGj

and just for the heck of it because I like old wool blankets . . .

Extra Heavy Duty Swiss Army Military Wool Blanket Cover


http://amzn.to/2aFqSF7

Enjoy the music!

The Mamas & The Papas – Monday Monday

Journey to Your “When I’m Gone” Place

IMG_3119Love this!  Take a moment today to dream about where your “When I’m Gone” place is . . . and then go there, if only in your mind.  It might be Paris or it could be that high mountain lake where you go camping every year.  Take some time today.  It only takes a moment.  Shut the door, put your feet up on the desk, close your eyes, and just imagine.  Breathe.  Dream. Open your eyes.  Life is good, isn’t it?

“He who travels has stories to tell.” – Irish saying

Tell your story.

maps III

Goat Cup Coffee: Kaldi & the Goat Gang

coffee arabicaOkay, coffee lovers!  Time to get out your pom-poms (or pompons for you grammarists) and pay homage!  This post is about the origins and discovery of our beloved coffee bean!

I absolutely love recounting this epic tale, as it is a testimony to fact being stranger than fiction and to the powers of observation and to sharing fun stuff with others.

Enjoy this bit of coffee lore.  And share it with your friends the next time you are driving by a field of frisky goats!  You are sure to impress them with this little-known fact about the most popular beverage on the planet!

Spur (Small) boots signaturexox

Boots the Badass Coffee Babe

And a quick PS for you introverted, infatuated-with-your-favorite-barista folk: Have you been wanting to strike up a conversation with that really cute barista?  Dazzle him/her with your trivia knowledge? Maybe get his/her number?  This cup would be the perfect way to get that convo started!  At the very least, you are going to have to demonstrate to him/ her how your unique cup stands upright while they are making your bar beverage.  Am I right?

On to the history lesson . . . Do you want to guess who gets credit for discovering coffee? Some Spanish explorer?  No.  Some Ethiopian King’s personal chef?  No.  Some extra-smart herbalist roaming the planet?  No.

Goats

It was GOATS.  Yes, goats who discovered the power of the coffee bean!  Of course, it took the observing eye of the good goatherd Kaldi to do the subsequent and necessary Hear ye!  Hear ye! about his goats’ discovery of the benefits of the coffee bean.  After all, the grazing capra aegagrus hircus needed a voice to spread the word.

According to the National Coffee Association , there once were some amazing and ancient coffee forests — yes, forests! — on the Ethiopian plateau.  It was here where our good buddy Kaldi was not only grazing his herd but paying attention as well.

Kaldi’s goats were gadding about like goats do and were eating berries from a particular tree — a coffee tree.  After eating the berries, Kaldi couldn’t help but notice that the goats had become so energetic, they refused to go to bed at bedtime.  All they wanted to do was romp and play throughout the night.

Imagine poor Kaldi.  All tuckered out from herding goats all day . . . and then having to factor in a marathon caffeine buzz to all of that jumping and hopping around that goats are so good at doing.  Kind of like giving a bunch of pre-schoolers a few bags of Oreos and some chocolate milk right before you expect them to go down for naptime.  Impossible.  And you have to remember that Kaldi was probably doing his own un-caffeinated thing at that time — probably some herbal concoction that had a zero caffeine boost.   Poor guy.

Aberrant behavior and frisky goats aside, Kaldi managed to make it through that frivolous first night, and he reported his observations to the abbot of a local monastery.  The abbot make a concoction with the berries . . .(I can just see him in some Curie-esque, Ethiopian, monastic laboratory with beakers bubbling over with the new brew.) . . . and, lo and behold, the good abbot found that the New Brew kept him remarkably alert through the long and rigorous hours of evening prayer.

The abbot, being a good sort of chap, shared Kaldi’s discovery with the other monks at the monastery, and the word spread more quickly than a wildfire during lightning season in a drought year.  Word then moved east to the Arabian peninsula and so the Coffee Movement was born.

Pretty darned cool, huh?

In honor of Kaldi and his rambunctious goats, I found this very fun cup for all of your coffee commuting needs.  Think of it as a hands-free commuter’s tribute to the Gang of Goats that surely must have suffered some post-caffeinated let down when they likely weren’t able to put 2 and 2 together in order to keep the Coffee High going.  I like to think that they did return to said-coffee-tree ,and they continued to munch away to their insomniac-state of delight.  Perhaps they ultimately passed their caffeine-spirited genes down to their boisterous prodigy.  You have to admit . . . goats sure can jump!

Let’s call this product the Kaldi Kommuter Kup for purposes of alliteration and to pay homage to Kaldi & the Goat Gang.  Nothing like being prepared and cool at the same time!  And . . . anyone who unwittingly comments on you sporting this rather absurd-but-super-cool-looking commuter cup will be sure to get an earful regarding the backstory of Kaldi & the Gang.  You can dazzle them with this little story that you now have tucked away in your Trivia Arsenal.

“GOAT Mug is a one-of-a-kind coffee mug that was inspired by the first coffee discovery. Its horn shape is a dedication to goats that discovered this elixir of life and it also lets you drink the very last sip. It comes with a set of 2 straps that allow you to carry your coffee, but at the same time reply to a couple of e-mails and carry around your newspaper.”

Click on the image below:

And click here to view the fun video.
About the Product
  • A special horn-shaped coffee mug holds 16 oz. (470 ml) of your favorite coffee drink
  • Comes with a set of 2 straps, long and short part, so carrying your coffee mug around is a blast
  • Holder can easily transform into a stand, which easily enables placing the mug onto a flat surface
  • It’s BPA free and 100% leak proof
  • GOAT mug is creating an exquisite experience from coffee drinking

Sporting your horn-shaped Kaldi Kommuter Kup will give you the same euphoric feeling as when you change from jeans to pajama bottoms.  Guaranteed!

Check out Carmella below!

like changing from jeans to pajama bottoms

like changing from jeans to pajama bottoms

 

 

Peep-Toe Boots, Hooker Barb, & Bullshitting Buck

Boots the Badass Coffee Babe here . . .

with some Peep-Toe Boots just for you!  That’s right.  Not pumps, but boots!

Just the name “Peep-Toe” is cute, don’t you think?   Peep-Toe pumps are worn by women who work  downtown.   Maybe girlfriends out for a luncheon.  Or maybe a first date at a coffee bar.  Or a pool party or a high-school reunion.  The connotation is something genteel and a little sophisticated and a little bit kicky, too.  A bit of casual chic polished up with a touch of class.  Peep-toes.  So much fun, right?

Well, for me, I can’t help but associate Peep-Toes with a woman named Barb.  It was the summer when I was working at a primitive fishing camp located on a remote and pristine lake at a high mountain lake.  It was the kind of camp that had no running water, no electricity, and no telephone.  The kind of place where the pack horses roamed with the deer and the dogs ran with the coyotes.  And where men came stag with nary a thought of bringing the womenfolk.

This camp was designed for tough, Bull-of-the-Woods, logger-woodsy types.  Hearty, plaid-shirted, maybe missing a finger or three from setting chains and cables in the woods.  Old-growth beards to match the old-growth trees that they had logged from the forest decades ago.  They wore stag pants, brown-and-white cotton monkey socks (the kind that were worn only in the summertime), and heavy, lace-up boots that defied all logic when worn in the middle of summer.   Hadn’t any of these fellas heard of flip-flops?  Jeez.

The men came up to the lake via a sweat-inspiring trail or by air.  To get there, you hiked up one hell of a trail and up and over a pretty tough pass or, if you had some dough to throw around, you could always “cheat” and fly in on the float plane.  The men arrived  with their “poles” — not rods — to catch rainbow trout.  Their backpacks and coolers were heavy-laden with beer, ham and cheese sandwiches, maybe an apple or banana for the more health-conscious, and worms for their hooks.

They traveled stag — meaning “No Women Allowed.”   They wanted to be able to belch and fart without censure while they fished and talked about politics, sports, and maybe even “the one that got away” (a previous gal pal from days gone by) with their buddies — all while rowing and floating serenely on the blue-green water.

Barb didn’t hike up the trail; rather, she arrived via floatplane.  And she was with her new guy, Buck.  Buck was one of the Regulars, the kind who flew in once a year to re-connect with his Inner Woodsman.  You could tell that Buck thought he was quite the catch.  Graying at the temples and still in possession of a full head of hair, Buck could bullshit with the Best of the Bulls.

After five minutes of bullshitting, any True Bull knew that Buck was not bonafide.  He had never been a chaser, a coiler, or a choker setter — let alone a bucker, faller, or climber.  Truth was, Buck worked for a non-profit in downtown Spokane, Washington, and probably only donned his hickory shirt, stag pants, and corks when he came to the lake to catch some trout.  But not a thing wrong with this.  Nothing at all.  Buck just wanted to lay some claim to his Inner-Woodsman.

This is the part of the story where I start to associate Peep-Toes with Lady Barb.  It was clear that Buck had not prepared Barb properly and truthfully for this particular foray into the wilderness.   (Remember: Buck was a real bullshitter.)  When Barb stepped out of the float plane, she was wearing white jeans, a white top, and the cutest little pair of tangerine and white striped Peep-Toes.  I am guessing that Barb thought that White-Knight Buck was whisking her away to some quaint and well-appointed fishing lodge in the mountains . . . a place where she could book a mani-pedi in the spa after she had a massage from a fully-bearded buckaroo named Billy.

And maybe Buck was happy to have led her along this particular garden path.  Or maybe Buck was just a bit thick and clueless.  Like I said, it was always really hard to tell with Buck.

The plane took off, and I got their boat ready . . . all the while Buck was jawing away at me.  How’s fishin’ this year?  How was the winter?  Snow get pretty high? When did the lake thaw?  Where are they biting this year?  This sort of thing.  Barb, clearly not feeling comfortable, asked me where the restroom was.  After giving her a rather complicated set of directions as to how to find the outhouse behind the main cabin up the hill from the dock, that was the last we saw of Barb for a while.  I finally asked Buck, “Do you think your lady friend is okay?”  But Buck just kept yakkin’ about trout and worms.

Eventually, Barb came picking her way back down the trail.  I couldn’t tell if she had found Ground Zero, but I wasn’t about to ask her.  It seemed indelicate.

Buck and Barb got in the boat tied to the dock and Buck started to get his fishing gear together.  He was in the middle seat — Rowing Position — and Barb made the error of choosing to sit in the bow of the boat.  “Damn, woman!” Buck growled. “I’m not gonna be able to row anywhere with your dead weight planted up there!”

Barb looked very confused, so I explained to Barb in plain English that it was easier to row the boat if the main weight was at the stern.  Hence, the mid-boat transfer began — Barb trip-trapping her way to the stern, doing her best to balance and stay inside the boat  — all while wearing those fancified wedge-heeled, Peep-Toe shoes.

[Nothing like adding a little Ginger-Rogers action to your fishing trip.  But it has to be said: Buck was no Fred Astaire.]

I have to hand it to Barb, as she was doing a damn good job of both trimming the boat and not tipping into the drink.  It was while she was stepping over the middle seat where Oblivious Buck was sitting that she caught Buck’s treble hook  . . . right in her you-know-where: the fork between her legs.

All of Barb’s wincing aside, I thought Buck was going to fall into the lake, he was laughing so hard.  The good news was that Buck had only caught her by the white of her jeans and nothing further.  Thank God.   While Buck and Barb were doing their dang-dest to remove the offending hook from Barb’s private area, Buck kept sputtering, “Damn!  Is it a keeper or a spawner?  A keeper or a spawner?”

I could tell that Barb did not have a fully-stocked fisherman’s lexicon in her brain, as she did not take any offense at the hint that she could be well past her prime as a Spawner — a fish that was only good for throwing back into the lake.  As I used to say when I was just a little tiny baby: Ignorance is bliss.  But I really had to hand it to Barb and give her an A+ for practicality.  While Buck was sputtering and exercising his pocket-fisherman wit, Barb whipped her pants down quicker than a pat of butter melts on a hot skillet.  Smart girl.  The hook extraction was more easily completed, and everyone was happy.  They left the dock, and I can’t really remember them saying if they caught any fish that day or not when they came back to catch the plane.

All of this.  And hence, the saga of Barb, Buck, the ill-placed fishing hook, and the tangerine-and-white Peep-Toe Shoes.

And as I am simply not ready to give up my boots for the summer, I am going for the next best thing: Peep-Toe Boots — in honor of hook-challenged Barb.  Are you with me here?  Here are some super-cute styles!  Have fun perusing and shopping and imagining the fun you are going to have in these shoes.   Not Hooker Barb-fun but real fun.

And Boots the Badass Coffee Babe’s advice for the day:

Never date a man named Buck.

Happy shopping!

P.S.  I always wanted to know what happened after Buck and Barb returned to Spokane.  Did they continue to date?  Did Buck get a cast-iron frying pan upside the head?  Did Barb trade in her pumps for some shit-kickers?  Inquiring minds and all that.