Lately I’ve been thinking about coffee...lately as in for the past five minutes. I spent this past weekend at my parents’ house, and it got me thinking about the way that we communicate: coffee. When something is wrong, my mum puts on a pot of coffee. When we have something to celebrate, we make more coffee. When I just need to sit and chat about something, I hear the words, “Let me just go start a pot of coffee”. When my dad wants me to get out of bed, he brings me a perfectly percolated cup of coffee. Almost every holiday memory I have involves coffee. Every time I’ve come home from a funeral my mum has shoved a cup of coffee into my hands. Every time I had something big to celebrate my dad and I went out for coffee.
When I moved out of my parents’ house I was shocked that the people I lived with didn’t consume coffee in the ravenous way my parents and I did. My mum had sent me off with nice little packages of my favorite brands and flavors of coffee and pretty little mugs that reminded me of home. I thought that was how everyone’s family worked. Oh contraire mon ami...
Sometimes I think about quitting coffee. It’s an expensive habit to maintain when done right. It’s also kind of inconvenient...especially when you run out of coffee and then remember the next morning when your head is blindly screaming at you to feed your addiction or face the consequences. But at the same times, when I wake up to my coffee in the morning, I know that my dad is waking up to the same smell. When I pour my first cup of the day at seven in the morning, I know that my mum has already finished her first pot. This makes me feel good. I don’t think I’ll ever quit...hopefully GOD will let us have coffee in Heaven.
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