This has been a dark week. It would be good to focus on something joyful.
Friday night I purchased a new coffee maker. This purchase did not come easily, however. I did a lot of soul-searching, intense research, and footwork before I had the treat of a superior home-brew.
Although they would deny it, my parents are responsible for my devotion to a darkly roasted bean. In my childhood years, coffee was a rote occupation. Get up, drink coffee, go to work. As many likely recollect, it was the first "adult beverage" I coveted and was denied. It was a part of our household, as much a member of the family as our dog, Jodie.
My grandmother was the first to regularly provide this banned substance. I looked forward to sitting with her Saturday mornings on the farm, and talking. She never curtailed the amount of cream or sugar that filled my cup. I would outgrow such rash methods. I am a purist, especially in barbeque and coffee. If you must mask the flavor with some sort of dressing, then your original substance must be substandard. I guess that sounds a little pretentious. Oh, well.
Halfway through my college career, I noticed something different on trips home. The quick java fix in the morning had become an exercise of reverence and ritual. It was something to be savored. It started, I suppose, when my mother subscribed to a coffee club. It was cemented when my father returned home from the store with a new machine, and, in an instant, moved the family from basket to cone filtration.
Now, here I am. There are emails extolling the virtues of coffee and tea, and comparing both to Volleyball. Even at my few years, I sometimes get the sense that certain things should be experienced with deliberate enjoyment. After reading reviews and opinions, I realized what I must buy. To my bewildered disappointment, I realized I must purchase the same model my parents owned. I would at least have the satisfaction of having a different color. I walked away from two trips in one weekend empty-handed. I finally found success on Friday, and I discovered joy.
There are several better ways to make coffee, I admit. However, I awoke Tuesday morning not to the blaring siren of my clock-radio, but to the deep aroma of java penetrating my nostrils.
Now, I await the dawn.