They took my coffee pot. I’m not allowed to have one in the new assisted living facility that I moved to. Apparently it’s a fire hazard. I know. You’re thinking that there are so many more important things going on in the world than whether or not I get my cup of Joe.
But coffee is a whole thing for me. I’ve been in love with coffee since someone introduced me to my first Starbuck’s Frappucino.
Before that, my mom and dad would try to get me to drink coffee. The closest I came was cafe au lait (lots of milk and sugar). The smell of coffee brings back memories of my mom and dad driving me to school in the morning and making a stop at the local bakery for coffee and donuts. We’d listen to Barry Manilow on the car radio.
Then later after my husband passed away, I bought a Keurig to save money on those trips to Starbucks. I’d invite my parents over for dinner and fix them coffee. We’d talk and share stories over our favorite flavors. When that coffee maker died and I had to move to a new apartment, I was so thrilled with the new one. It was turquoise. My friend, Greg, took me shopping for it and lugged it up the steps. I drank an awful lot of coffee in that apartment.
Now it’s gone and I miss it and all the memories.
And when I finally admitted that I couldn’t keep up the apartment on my own (my parents and husband were gone), I moved to a new place and took the turquoise coffee maker with me.