Coffee Magic

I’m enjoying a cup of coffee as I type. I should rephrase that. I am HAVING a cup of coffee. It’s a ritual I did not start early in my adult life, otherwise I might actually like it. The first few cups sampled over decades were so full of other ingredients that they probably didn’t deserve to be called coffee.

Now I understand coffee’s purpose: to gather folks together (or gather one’s self); to aid in relaxation (or motivation); to spur contemplation for problem-solving (or problem-ignoring); to make time to inhale (or exhale).

Sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of chocolate milk or soda instead of accepting my parents’ invitation to join them with a cup of coffee may have changed our conversation topics. Perhaps I never officially crossed that bridge into adulthood in their minds since that is a beloved ritual I never shared with them. Who knows the stories I missed or the gems of insight they never voiced if I still seemed like an overgrown teen to them.

They taught me to make it for them in the stove-top pot. I enjoyed that, and loved the smells and sounds as it percolated. Oh how I wish I had understood it all then! Not too many years later I became the coffee maker in the teachers’ lounge. (Anyone who consistently arrives early qualifies). I didn’t drink it then, either, not realizing the camaraderie I was skipping out on. Coffee is the draw. Taste is secondary to the group it gathers and the fun or gravity that ensues.

My friend Becky introduced me to its magical powers. Need a secret weapon? Drink a cup solo. When two gather with cups in hand, much can be exchanged with or without words.

Maybe I AM enjoying my morning coffee.