A Cup of Coffee and the Echoes of Adventure

As I crossed the threshold of half a century, a reflective calm settled over my mornings. The act of shoveling snow at my doorstep has become a quiet meditation these days , punctuated by the burn of cold air against my skin.

Today, as the frost numbed my fingers, I rushed inside to cradle a steaming cup of coffee. The warmth seeped into the tip of my fingers , and with each sip, the memories it unlocked traveled far beyond the snow-covered ground just outside my door.

I remember the first time I saw snow; not on a wintery day, but during the summer, capping the rocks high above the tree line of the Sierra Nevada mountains. It was the summer of boundless adventure with Sindona, a woman who was both my partner and my muse. A doctor with wisdom and years ahead of me, she opened her world to an innocent islander, thirsty for a taste of adventure and new learnings. 

We spent two glorious weeks wandering Yosemite and beyond; crossing the shimmering Echo Lakes, walking beneath the ancient branches of the bristlecone pines, and marveling at the Methuselah tree, silent yet eternal.

 I vividly recall waking up one morning at the Tioga Pass Campground, where the mirror-like surface of Tioga Lake reflected the untouched wilderness of pine trees. I had my first sip of coffee that morning, wrapped in the icy embrace of mountain air, and it tasted like pure adventure.

Sindona leaned in close, her warmth cutting through the chill, and kissed me lightly. “I want to relive. My life through your eyes,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “There’s an innocence in your curiosity, a passion I thought I’d lost.” I didn’t understand it then, but our time together became a canvas on which we painted memories with every experience.

From that pristine lake to the Desert hot springs of Nevada, from chilly nights on the shores of Lake Tahoe to surreal basalt formations at the Devil’s Postpile, from the bustling streets of San Francisco to a mango lassi in a corner café in Berkeley, we lived as though tomorrow would never arrive. Each morning began with coffee and each night with wine shared under starlit skies of California’s wine country. For six fleeting months, Sindona embraced the excitement of rediscovery through the lens of an island boy’s wonder.

Now, I sit watching my teenage son—strong and fearless, absorbed in a kickboxing match on the TV. A question burns quietly in my chest. Will he take the adventurous route, the one marked by daring curiosity, that I did? Will he find moments of romance under moonlit mountains or over steaming cups of coffee in far-flung places?

These memories !!! They are treasures, brought back with every sip of coffee. A drink that seems to hold the very essence of life’s richest experiences, connects us to distant landscapes and emotions, to the thrill of discovery and the quiet moments of reflection.

As I watch my son, I realize I don’t have the answer to my question yet. But for now, I savor this simple moment—my hands around a stemming cup of Sumatran coffee, my heart full of memories, and a hope that one day, my stories will inspire him to create his own.