Anyone who knows me very well at all knows two things about me: I wake up slowly (and preferably without much conversation) and I really love a good cup of coffee to start my day. I have spent a fair amount of time in my life looking for ways to get an extraordinary cup of joe in the comfort of my own home so as not to have to deal with overly cheerful baristas before I have found my social skills. One year I found a Cuisinart grind and brew coffee pot on sale for a reasonable price. This lovely piece of equipment had a place to put your coffee beans so that they would be ground and then dispensed directly into the filter and start brewing. Not only that, it had a feature that would let you set it up the night before, and then at the appointed time the next morning it would come on, grind your beans and brew your coffee. It’s for people like me to stumble into the kitchen and pour a cup without having to strain those brain cells on things like measuring, remembering the filter, and pouring water without spilling. I eagerly set up my pot for the next morning and went off to bed.
I might have neglected to explain to my children about this magical machine. I guess I didn’t think about them getting up and wandering the house while I was still asleep. Well, as it turned out, at the same time I was laying in the bed listening with anticipation to the sound of the grinder going off as promised by the instructions, my little son of about 6 or 7 came wandering into the kitchen. When the grinding noise started he came speeding toward our bedroom door and tried to open it to find safety in our presence, but he failed to get the door open so he collided with it a full speed, yelling, “There’s something happening in here!” The image of one of those cartoon characters who run through a door leaving a hole in the exact shape of their running bodies floated through my mind, and I began to laugh hysterically at my poor son’s terror.
I know. I was heartless to be laughing at my poor little boy at a time of day when had it been me being startled I would not have found humor in it for several years. But laugh I did, and like any parent who enjoys telling the same story over and over to people who could care less to hear it, I shared this story with anyone who couldn’t get away from me quick enough. Needless to say, David hated that coffee pot, no matter how much warning he got of its impending roar.
I think it is safe to say he had healed from this trauma, since he has started his own quest for that lovely cup of morning elixir to start his day. Of course, his quest led him to a nice quiet French press.
We have these moment to remember.