“The Coffee Urn”

 

I was just thinking today.  Something I seem to have plenty of time to do.  While some would say that I do too much thinking,  others with equal alacrity, would protest that I don’t do enough of it.  I do seem to have one of those minds that never shuts off.  And as I was pondering one of the thousands of insignificant thoughts that seem to just coming flying into my consciousness like so much space matter, I realized the significance of coffee in my life.

When one is asked to identify five constants or consider a recurring theme that is/has been significant in the course of a lifetime coffee probably does not make the cut.  But this is exactly the kind of things I sit around and think about.  So it is with a fair amount of surprise that this realization has not come to me before now.  I grew up with coffee!  Joining my grandparents in their bed to sip coffee is one of the sweetest childhood memories I have.  Nan would “load” the old percolator with water and Folgers coffee, bring three cups from the kitchen and sit them on the bedside table every night before going to bed so that all that was necessary the next morning was to plug it up and wait.  This was how my grandparents started their day—propped up in bed sipping coffee (so strong it could practically stand up in the cup) and discussing their agenda for the day.  And for me, the many, many mornings I woke up on the little loveseat at the foot of their bed and then climbed right up between them, I found a most comforting ritual that I would carry with me wherever life took me.  And it has taken me down the road to some places!

When I left home after graduating high school I moved into a dingy little apartment near the hospital where I was in training to become a licensed vocational nurse.  It was February, cold and dark every morning for that first month away from home where I’d always awakened to my mother in the kitchen preparing breakfast for us before school.  Instead I woke each morning to find myself lonesome for home, missing the familiar chaos of four kids getting ready for school.  I needed a familiar ritual to sustain me in those strange surroundings.  I used to sit at the window peering into the dark and wishing for warmer weather and a home of my own.   What sustained me was that cup of warm coffee, made in my little tin drip coffee pot, and the thoughts that this too shall pass. 

And when Bodie and I got married one of our wedding gifts was a nice shiny new Westinghouse 10 cup percolator.  Thus we began our mornings with a cup of my favorite brew.   As a matter of fact, the first morning after were married, I awoke and found that in the confusion of running to the car when we left the church, we had forgotten to put my overnight bag in the car.  That little piece of luggage contained my make-up, hairbrush toothbrush, etc.   Now I have always been resourceful and so when we ordered room service to bring breakfast and coffee I asked for an extra fork to comb my hair until we could go out and purchase a brush and cosmetics.   The coffee gave me the courage needed to stroll in the nearest five and dime store sporting no makeup and hair that everyone was sure to tell was combed with a fork.  Lord, how egocentric we are as young folks!  In truth nobody cares how you look or what you think. 

But it was with great pride that I used to think how we were just like my grandparents beginning our day with that courage- building cup of dark brown liquid and THAT was a good thing!  Many a morning Bodie and I would sit in our den with no light except for a nice fire in the fireplace and sip our cup of coffee and discuss our day or carry the pot outside and plug it in on the deck and listen to the birds as we talked about everything.  We’ve sustained careers, raised children and welcomed grandchildren into our lives all over a cup of coffee.   We have survived college educations both our own and our children’s pursuit of degrees; hidden Easter eggs and put up Christmas trees; held screaming teething babies and the hands of our dying parents all the while being sustained and comforted by a good old cup of coffee.  We have bought and sold houses, cars and boats; discussed the merits of a particular lawnmower, cookware, house shoes and insect repellent; made decisions regarding the mundane and fantastic issues of a shared life, all over a cup of Joe.  And now we are retired and enjoying a less frenetic more leisurely life style. We sit each morning and plan our day, talk about the kids and grandkids and about how well we slept or what joint needs a dose of Icy Hot or where we might go on the next road trip or what to serve at our holiday dinner, all over a cup of coffee.

And naturally with advancing age one of the thoughts I ponder is my own demise.  Not in a morose way or not with unnatural fear but just that it is a threshold also to be crossed.  I have long said that I want to be “cream”ated  (just couldn’t resist that one) when the time comes.  I’ve thought about how science says that matter cannot be destroyed but that it just changes form.  So rather than be laid to rest in an expensive metal box in a vault in the ground, I find the idea of my matter changing form and still sustaining life in such places that my family chooses to scatter my ashes.  And I am assuming they will need to carefully consider the best place or places for me.  I think I’d like to help bring new life to the earth somewhere.  I’d like to change the color of hydrangeas or in the minutest way feed fish in the beautiful azure waters of the Caribbean.  And while they are making plans for my distribution they will need a place to store me.  My suggestion is a Folgers coffee can.  If the old one I have placed on the kitchen table with a handful of zinnias is not fancy enough then by all means they should go to the expense of having an American silversmith fashion an urn bearing the name of Folgers somewhere on it.  I am a coffee can kinda woman but if crematory regulations and family sensibilities will not permit storage in my old tin then by all means get one in silver or bronze!  And this just struck me---this gives a whole new meaning to the words COFFEE URN! 

I hope all my coffee-lovin' friends will enjoy this little "dark roast" story.  And take it as it is intended--making light of a subject that is often difficult to think about let alone discuss with family.