As coffee is one of my pure delights in life it seems a fitting first post as we get to know one another....
A few of the things I love about coffee; The sound of the water being poured in, the sound of the drip, the sound of the carafe being pulled off the burner, the sound of the steaming liquid ( I swear I can hear the steam rising from the mug) , the aroma filling the kitchen, and eventually the feel of my hands wrapped around the mug, breathing in the fragrance of sumatra dark roast ( no light brown stuff for me). And then, finally, finally the first sip. Refreshment for mind body and spirit.
( Speaking of mugs. This is an important part. Four fingers need to fit through the handle and the top needs to be no wider than the bottom. I have my favorite, just the right size and shape, painted with Norwegian folk, handed down to me from my mother.)
Now, I enjoy a cup almost any time of day but by far the best cup of the day is usually the first. This is why. I usually I get to hear all this from my beloved bed as my beloved husband ( who doesn't touch the stuff) makes this for me every morning and he delivers it to me along with the morning paper.
I savor and sip my morning cup and soak in the new day and the trees outside my window. Whether snow covered, or bare, newly budding or lush floiage, sun or clouds, I relish the beauty. It is often a sacred moment.
As rich as those solitary moments are some days there is even a better cup. The days I have coffee. As in "to coffee". The noun and the verb at once. How much fellowship, how many tears, joys, or secrets have been shared while cradling the steamy mug in hand sitting across the kitchen table? Perhaps I will share some of my stories later, I would love for you to share some of yours.
I come from good Norwegian stock so perhaps it's part genetic. I have a coffee pot from my great-grandmother Katinka. Another Norwegian, Margaret Jensen titled her book "First we have Coffee". Her preface includes these word that sum up her, and my, not only love of coffee but the sacredness of it.
"Slowly we walked to the big house where logs blazed and coffee perked. As old stories and familiar hymns filled the air, the warmth of friendship and loving memories filled our hearts.
With coffee cup in hand I moved close to the fire to watch the flaming logs. An amber glow of love and warmth engulfed me and I knew that Mama lived on somewhere beyond the storm, safely in the house of the Lord forever.
I also knew that I had to write the story of Mama and her Norwegian coffee, poured with that some amber glow of love.
Being the eledest, I remember much. The story began for me when I found Mama's Norwegian diary in the right hand corner of an old chest-but before se start, first we have coffee."
Daughter Anna and husband John Marshall were home this weekend.Young professionals starting careers we hadn't seen them in months. They arrived during the wee hours after a 10 hour drive and slipped into the basement guest room. As I sat at the kitchen table the next morning coffee in hand they each in turn padded up the stairs, stopped first at the coffee pot, poured their cup, gave me a hug and joined me at the table and we began to catch up. By first having coffee.