the simple joys

I found a French press this summer at the town swap shop, and I've yet to use it. When I make coffee I use the old stove top percolator that my parents used in the early days of their marriage. I like to imagine my Mom getting breakfast ready, her waist long hair swaying behind her as she hummed a tune and cooked, while my Dad got ready for work.

I got busy the other day and burnt my coffee, scalding and scorching the bottom of the percolator and I was afraid I'd lost it. It took two days of scrubbing (and airing out my apartment) before the percolator was up and running, but run it does.

Buzzer just went off, gotta go grab my strong hazelnut coffee; time to enjoy a cup before heading back to work; time to enjoy the warm, rich smell of coffee in my apartment.


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