Sometimes I’m nearly asleep and I jolt awake wanting to phone my Mama.
Like tonight.
I’m sleeping in a hotel. Falling asleep while thinking about coffee.
Remembering as a child running to greet my Dad on the driveway when he arrived home from work. The first kid to get to him got to carry his thermos in the house and drink the last inch or so of coffee left in the bottom. Sweet sweet creamy lukewarm nectar.
It’s only just now, as I type this out fifty years later, that I realize he probably intentionally didn’t drink the last few swallows in the thermos so he could bring home a sweet blessing for one of his five kids. (This thought seriously has just punched me in the heart.)
But tonight my sleepy thoughts had me trying to remember how my Mama brewed that coffee for Dad’s thermos each day.
I have no recollection.
Most of my childhood we had no electricity. We surely didn’t have a Keurig or Delonghi to push a button to select the strength and flavour, with an option of frothed milk. Neither was it even a simple Melitta pour-through with a cone and filter.
But I can’t recall it.
“Mama!”
I just wanna ask a simple question.
“How did you make coffee, way back when?”
I know instant coffee was a thing for a while. But I don’t think that’s how they filled Dad’s Thermos.
And so I lay awake…
It’s not like there’s more important crap to be hijacking my thoughts at night. My country’s not on the brink of civil war. The world’s not spinning out of control. People aren’t being manipulated and divided in insanely bizarre ways that even ten years ago no one in the ‘free’ world could have even imagined…
No, it’s the vintage ways of brewing coffee that are keeping me awake.
And I just wanna phone my Mama.
No comments:
Post a Comment