The first thing I do each morning is make a pot of coffee. Some of my fondest memories center around cups of coffee and the people who brewed them.
I guess a person’s mother is always the yardstick by which everything else is measured, but really, my mother could make the most excellent coffee. I’ve had many a good talk with her and Dad, sitting at their kitchen table, coffee cups at hand.
My brother-in-law, Ray, was an early riser, going to get the morning paper first thing, then making a pot of coffee. I was an early riser too. When spending a few days with my sister and him, he and I would share morning cups of coffee and pages of the news. It was a good start to a day in Texas.
Photo by Missy Day Albrecht
When spending some time with my Minnesota brother and sister-in-law, he would make the morning coffee before going to bed each night. “Just push the button when you get up,” he told me. “You’ll have a fresh pot in no time.” So, come morning, I’d carry my coffee and a lawn chair to the lake a few feet from the back deck. As the sun turned the sky and water into pink, then crimson, I’d listen to the cry of the loons, admire the mama duck and her babies and watch a fish hawk high in the sky. A good way to greet a new day.
My son Matt is a coffee connoisseur. He finishes off meals with a fresh pot of coffee, his favorite brand made to his specifications.
This morning, I’ll take my cup to the deck and enjoy the coolness, the quiet, and memories of other times with other cups of coffee and the people who brewed them.
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