The Comfort of Coffee

My first memories of coffee revolve around my mother.  It seemed that she always had a cup sitting next to her wherever she was. It was a huge part of her social circle.  I can remember quietly playing under the table while the neighborhood ladies sat drinking coffee and talking around the kitchen table.  I desperately wanted to be grown up and begged to be allowed to drink some coffee.  Every once in a while I was granted the rare treat of a cup of milk and sugar with a small dollop of coffee added in.  It was heaven. 

Eventually my mom deemed that I was finally old enough to actually drink coffee.  I poured the dark brew into the cup, deeply breathed in the delicious aroma and gleefully took my first sip…it was the most vile stuff I had ever tasted.    

I didn’t touch the stuff again for several years…when good friends showed me how to doctor it up with cream and sugar.  We used to get off work around eleven at night and head over to the local cafe and drink pots of coffee and just chat about anything and everything. It never seemed to affect my sleep.  It just brought back wonderful memories of having coffee with friends. 

Nowadays, despite living in Seattle with it’s coffee culture, none of my friends really drink coffee.  Some just don’t like it and prefer tea.  Others don’t drink for religious or medical reasons.  So coffee is no longer a social event for me.

Every morning I wake to the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee.  I fix it just the way I like it and enjoy a cup or two first thing in the morning.  It’s my way of gently waking up and preparing for the day. 

And maybe…just maybe…it’s my way of reconnecting with those I love….

This entry was posted in It's all about me!. Bookmark the permalink.

32 Responses to The Comfort of Coffee

Comments are closed.