Coffee

My Dad very openly hates coffee. He never had a good thing to say about it. So I had to keep it to myself that I secretly liked the smell of Grandpa and Grandma's coffee brewing. It wasnt' till I left the house and went to college... I bellied up to the dining hall table my freshman year with my brother and his friends. Their mugs were filled with steaming hot coffee. I thought I'd try the brew myself. Hold the cream and sugar, no acquired taste necessary. I liked it strong and black from the first taste.

Good things are better and difficult things are bearable with coffee. a movie, a book, conversation, sunrise, sunset, the paper, waiting in line, work... winter (spring, summer and autumn for that matter).

Some of my favorite moments are in a restaurant with a good friend, the meal is over and you are engaged in earnest conversation. But the moment is not complete without that piping hot cup of joe in your hand. "Warm your coffee up, ma'am? yes please...thank you."

Abram once accused me of being addicted. Well, its certainly not the caffeine, as I can drink a cup and go straight to bed. It is a comfort to me. Its just a good thing. And one I can't get enough of. When I'm sad, coffee can actually cheer me, when I'm happy, it adds to my pleasure, when I'm solemn, its a welcome companion.

So, sorry Dad, but in your greatest efforts to turn us all away from the strong drink, your son and youngest daughter hold coffee in a very high regard.