Coffee

 Every morning, I get up and the first thing that I do is make a pot of coffee.  Before I feed the fish, before I take Squirt out, before I feed the outdoor cats....I make a pot of coffee.  And, usually before the pot is completely brewed, I have already taken a cup out for myself.  I sit out on the porch, if the weather is cooperative, and have my first cup and just sit and ponder my day.

I did not start drinking coffee until my late twenties.  I was working at the catering company and one day I just decided to have some.  I had a coworker who would make a fresh pot every time she wanted coffee, even if there was a full pot there, she'd make a new one and drink only one cup of it. I thought that was pretty wasteful, so I started having some so it wouldn't completely go to waste.  It did help give me that extra boost of energy and I discovered I actually enjoyed the taste.  I had always liked the smell of coffee brewing so enjoying the taste was only natural for me.

I don't know why it took me so long to start drinking coffee because it was a big part of my growing up.  Of course, antiques wise, I have always loved cups and saucers.  Grandmother had a collection of "after dinner" cups and saucers that I would constantly play with as a young kid.  I know that I did break a couple of them through carelessness but she still let me hold them.  And I loved seeing the table set for breakfast with the cups.

Coffee was almost always had after meals.  At our house, Grandmother would always want a cup after we ate.  If Mom did not want any, we had one of those one cup hot beverage dispensers for things like instant coffee and I would fix one of those for Grandmother.  Instant coffee was a big thing back in those days.  But, often Mom would brew an entire pot and many wonderful conversations would be had the dinner table over a cup of coffee.  Mom always had coffee in her office as well.  If I was at work with here, my job would be to take the empty pot around to the water fountain and fill it up for another round of coffee.  And Mom always had plenty of mugs around her office to share with other people in the building.

So, here I am, on a Saturday morning, sitting at the computer with my mug of coffee.  It is my ritual.  I love the smell and the taste of it.  I drink it black.  Michael uses cream.  But having it each day gives me a connection to people I love that have gone before me.  And I cherish that.  

That is all