Coffee.
Yes, coffee.
The smell of it, the sound of it perking, the warm, rich taste. When did I become an addict?
I never drank coffee…until I went to Europe a number of years ago. I got off the plane, in between flights, and decided to give it a try. No reason in particular….just part of the adventure.
My parents never understood why I didn’t like the stuff – my dad even looked at me funny when I declared it wasn’t my thing. This coming from parents that grew up on it – and I watched them drink it gloriously each night as they read all their newspapers. Mom was a percolator gal – Farberware – she had that pot going every night. And the glass coffeepot on the stove each morning was dad’s doing (mom worked nights.) I recall dad forgetting the coffee one morning as he shaved and he ran to the kitchen to lift the pot, as the glass shattered. He wasn’t happy. No safety pots back then. Little did I know a shard of glass could embed itself in the back of my head as I devoured my bowl of Captain Crunch.
But I’ve become a cappuccino lover…WHEN it’s made right. Oh yes, I’m a snob about that….too many bad Starbucks versions (sorry Bucks lovers…everyone has their preferences.) And I like regular coffee when I’m staying at friends homes or apts, on a weekend morning, when we are relaxing and chatting. Coffee goes hand in hand with those types of mornings. It’s my treat. My little bit of luxury.
So when I saw this sign outside a great little coffee shop in Brooklyn near my friends apartment, I stopped and smiled. They are right….Celebrate!! Coffee fixes things. It does somehow. It makes people stop for a second and relax…until the caffeine kicks in.
