Smelling Coffee
"Coffee smells like freshly ground heaven." ~Jessi Lane Adams
It is one of those Saturday mornings that I wish could last forever. Yesterday was the end to a busy week, capped off with an amazing event full of people that I wanted to spend time with. This morning I was able to wake up when my body was ready, not to an alarm clock, and press the start button on the coffee machine. The smell of brewing coffee, in the quiet of a morning where everyone in the house is asleep, is one of my favorite things.
When I was in college, one of my roommates loved coffee. I thought she was crazy. As close as I would get to the coffee was the powdered froo froo stuff that tasted more like hot chocolate than coffee. When I married Vic, I would brew coffee for him but drink very little of it myself. Army Soldiers have an amazing love affair with coffee. They call it Joe and they brew it by the gallons. Chances are, if you enter into an office with Army Soldiers in it, there is a coffee machine. If you find a coffee machine, you will probably find some of the strongest coffee around, freshly brewed, in the pot. These guys (and gals) have it down to a science. I remember when Vic and I were first married, at his first duty station, Ft Rucker, Alabama ( Home of Aviation) he had a short stint working in the Commanding General's office. He was awaiting his flight school class start date and the Senior Non Commisioned Officer taught him how to make the morning coffee. The trick was to put water into the filter before the coffee, swirl it around so the filter stuck to the side of the coffee basket, and then put the coffee in. This would eliminate the chance of the grounds falling into the pot. I know this trick because Vic brought it home for me to learn as I made his morning coffee. We've graduated to the permanent filter type of machine, but the habit of doing that is still prominent in our household.
The more children we had, the more I began to love my coffee. A cup of coffee holds such promise. If I pour a cup of coffee, it means I think I have ample time to enjoy it as it cools down enough to drink. If I have time, then that means I can sit down (preferably in silence) and survey the day prior to the activity that accompanies everything in our house. There have been numerous days that I have poured and fixed ( with froo froo creamer) the perfect cup of coffee, only to have nary a moment to drink it. The cold cup of coffee that greets me at the end of a hectic morning reminds me that my time was not my own on those days. I've learned to love that cold cup too.
During the first deployment, my coffee mugs got bigger. I started with a respectable, normal sized mug. After a month or two I was drinking out of a mug that was the size of one and a half cups of coffee. When my birthday came, my dear friend Mel gave me a larger mug that had palm trees on it. When the kids and I would join Vic on a video phone call, he would pick on me about my large mug of coffee. He would have his cup of Joe, in his unit mug and we would spend time talking about life. Coffee while teleconferencing. By the end of that deployment, I was drinking my coffee out of a soup mug that my buddy Ellen bought me in Poland. When she went on a polish pottery trip and asked me what I'd like her to bring back, I asked for the largest mug she could find. Every morning that I choose that soup mug for my morning coffee, I think of Ellen and our deployment stories. Those stories alone warranted that obnoxious sized mug of coffee.
These days I'm back to the small mug and I find I have more days that I drink my coffee hot than cold. We have graduated from babies crying and taking me away from my quiet coffee time, to almost having kids old enough to share the coffee with. These mornings, Vic and I talk across the kitchen bar with our coffee mugs in hand, prior to his departure to work. It's been a beautiful thread of our life, coffee and the time it takes to savor it. Whether across the miles or across the room.
It is one of those Saturday mornings that I wish could last forever. Yesterday was the end to a busy week, capped off with an amazing event full of people that I wanted to spend time with. This morning I was able to wake up when my body was ready, not to an alarm clock, and press the start button on the coffee machine. The smell of brewing coffee, in the quiet of a morning where everyone in the house is asleep, is one of my favorite things.
When I was in college, one of my roommates loved coffee. I thought she was crazy. As close as I would get to the coffee was the powdered froo froo stuff that tasted more like hot chocolate than coffee. When I married Vic, I would brew coffee for him but drink very little of it myself. Army Soldiers have an amazing love affair with coffee. They call it Joe and they brew it by the gallons. Chances are, if you enter into an office with Army Soldiers in it, there is a coffee machine. If you find a coffee machine, you will probably find some of the strongest coffee around, freshly brewed, in the pot. These guys (and gals) have it down to a science. I remember when Vic and I were first married, at his first duty station, Ft Rucker, Alabama ( Home of Aviation) he had a short stint working in the Commanding General's office. He was awaiting his flight school class start date and the Senior Non Commisioned Officer taught him how to make the morning coffee. The trick was to put water into the filter before the coffee, swirl it around so the filter stuck to the side of the coffee basket, and then put the coffee in. This would eliminate the chance of the grounds falling into the pot. I know this trick because Vic brought it home for me to learn as I made his morning coffee. We've graduated to the permanent filter type of machine, but the habit of doing that is still prominent in our household.
The more children we had, the more I began to love my coffee. A cup of coffee holds such promise. If I pour a cup of coffee, it means I think I have ample time to enjoy it as it cools down enough to drink. If I have time, then that means I can sit down (preferably in silence) and survey the day prior to the activity that accompanies everything in our house. There have been numerous days that I have poured and fixed ( with froo froo creamer) the perfect cup of coffee, only to have nary a moment to drink it. The cold cup of coffee that greets me at the end of a hectic morning reminds me that my time was not my own on those days. I've learned to love that cold cup too.
During the first deployment, my coffee mugs got bigger. I started with a respectable, normal sized mug. After a month or two I was drinking out of a mug that was the size of one and a half cups of coffee. When my birthday came, my dear friend Mel gave me a larger mug that had palm trees on it. When the kids and I would join Vic on a video phone call, he would pick on me about my large mug of coffee. He would have his cup of Joe, in his unit mug and we would spend time talking about life. Coffee while teleconferencing. By the end of that deployment, I was drinking my coffee out of a soup mug that my buddy Ellen bought me in Poland. When she went on a polish pottery trip and asked me what I'd like her to bring back, I asked for the largest mug she could find. Every morning that I choose that soup mug for my morning coffee, I think of Ellen and our deployment stories. Those stories alone warranted that obnoxious sized mug of coffee.
These days I'm back to the small mug and I find I have more days that I drink my coffee hot than cold. We have graduated from babies crying and taking me away from my quiet coffee time, to almost having kids old enough to share the coffee with. These mornings, Vic and I talk across the kitchen bar with our coffee mugs in hand, prior to his departure to work. It's been a beautiful thread of our life, coffee and the time it takes to savor it. Whether across the miles or across the room.
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