Much ado about coffee

I sat down to write a family blog, but I have a cuppa coffee, and I was just drawn here, to all of you.  It’s been a slightly offbeat morning, which is a good thing, given how frustrating our mornings often are.  Chloe has a track meet after school today, so we left the house early to stop at CVS for some track supplies.  What? you ask.  What does the drugstore sell that is track related?  Maybe ice bags, or water bottles?  Sunscreen?  Socks? None of the above.  I cringe to admit it… it was 2 bags of candy for the bus ride home.

What can I say?  Soccer has its oranges, and track has its… candy.  Anyway, I’m doing my part to be a good “track-mom.”

But I’ve gone off-point here.  Next to CVS is a little coffee shop called Java Sun.  After Chloe got her treats, I made her sit with the littles a moment while I went for mine.  Just the daily blend– New Guinea, today– but, yum!  I got to have early coffee today without dashing home and firing up our little italian coffee-thingy (which we love to pieces, though it is messier and fussier than drip).

All this brings me to something I’ve been wanting to say since “cuppa chaos” went live.  I don’t mean to be a coffee snob.  I do love it– it is one of the daily pleasures in my life, and one thing I’ve been able to kind of hold onto from our dream life in Paris.  I love talking about blends, different ways of drinking coffee, and different kinds of cafes.  But there is nothing wrong with Maxwell House or Folger’s or your local diner!  Even coffee afficionados sometimes drink day-old, microwaved coffee from the bottom of the pot!  So don’t be afraid to state your preference (or even just your reality of the day) with pride!  The point is that coffee brings us together– not separates us.

My life at the moment is in an affluent little town by the sea, Mochahead, I mean, Marblehead!  But almost as vivid as the Starbucks down the street is my memory of the big Bunn coffee machine in Donna’s restaurant when I was 15 and a waitress there.  At slow times, someone had to separate the paper coffee filters so we wouldn’t have to mess with that when we were busy and the place was screaming for more coffee.  We also had a ritual first thing in the morning (we opened at, like, 5:30!)– five or six cups poured and set on the lunch counter before we even unlocked the door.  The regulars– farmers and truckers from the livestock auction upstairs– would tromp down the stairs in their work boots (leaving bits of delectables from the barns all over the stairs for me to sweep up later), pick up their coffee from the counter, and find their usual seats.

Whether you’re sitting in a basement restaurant with a bunch of coverall- and cap-wearing rowdies, or elbowing in to the coffee bar next to guys in ties, I raise my paper cup with the cardboard sleeve to you, my friends!

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