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Coffee Pots & Clothes Lines
by Bill Shiver
My Dad got up every morning of his life and fired up a pot of coffee. He had an old blue speckled coffee pot. The real kind. The kind with the little glass globe on top that bubbled to signal the brew was on. There is something about the aroma of freshly brewing coffee that manages to invade every corner and crevice of a home. Even bundled under blankets and quilts way back in my bedroom, the perky aroma found me. It was not altogether bad either. I kinda like the smell of brewing coffee. I just don’t like to drink it.
My Dad and my Sister were the coffee drinkers in our family. My Mom didn’t much care for it until her later years. She would make a habit of going to the Cheese Store every morning for her Coffee Klatch. She along with Beth Powers, Winnie Mercer, Mrs. Kirby, Walter Cunningham and some others would solve the problems of the day over coffee. I think it was the highlight of her day.
My Dad always had a cup of coffee in his hand. In the back of our little store sat a single eyed hot plate. You could always count on coffee to be there.
I vaguely remember when they came out with Instant Coffee. For days my Dad railed and ranted that “this stuff is not fit for human consumption.” But, in the end, it proved just too easy to put a spoonful of coffee dist in a cup, pour in hot water, stir and drink. We are always a little too eager to trade quality for expediency. The ease and speed won him over as it did lots of folks.
That old coffee pot went the way of other things. Like the long clothes line we had in the back yard. We did have an old wringer washer, but the wind was our dryer. Clothes would flap in the breeze and when you took them in they were naturally warmed from the sun, and they smelled really clean and fresh. Now, when you take them from the mechanical dryer they are artificially warmed, and they smell of some artsy fabric softener stuff that clogs up my sinuses.
Here’s to old times and the old ways of doing things. We have moved on to the siren call of progress. May we always be able to remember with fondness those lost days of our youth.
