Devonne Brown

“ ‘Whatever,’ is the wrong answer,” I said to myself, to the boys, to the cat, to the dog. Be specific in your choices. You only get to make this one once. Make it a happy one, always. Consequences come at you with knives or feathers. I much prefer feathers, the soft parts anyway. Everything has its prickly bits, but you don’t have to make everything so hard. You really don’t. Speak your love language to yourself in your choices.

MoCat, the indoor outdoor tuxedo tabby from years ago would leave mouthfuls of feathers and bird guts as gifts in my bedroom. His battles must have been fierce. He was proud of his victories and brought me tribute. I didn’t condone his acts of violence, but I appreciated the sentiment, and preferred the feathers over the guts. His choice of love language suited him, the hunter, the free spirit. He didn’t live long, but he lived a happy life. I respected him.

I choose coffee. Black, strong coffee that makes its own sweetness, not with sugar, not some fancy burnt roasted stuff from a whistling machine behind a bar, but coffee made with love from a pot. I want my coffee fresh, so I make little batches, even when there’s company about. It has to be good for everyone, especially for me. I’ll make it over and over again, all day long, if necessary, a tribute, a choice, a feather with a prickly bit.

On the sunny side of sixty still, but I’m just now figuring this out. Study choices. Consequences come at you with knives or feathers.