I found myself thinking about coffee in the grocery store today. Mostly because I needed some. I'm not really much of a coffee drinker; for me, it's almost medicinal for those afternoon slumps (I rarely drink soft drinks, so I don't hit the Coke like a lot of people). But when I do make it, I like to grind my own beans, in this great old 1920 (yes - a hundred years old now) cast-iron coffee grinder.
We go it at a community yard sale about 40 years ago that was a fund raiser for some Good Cause. My parents collected stuff for it in their garage, and Bob and I had gone for a visit and were helping out. And we grabbed this thing because it was The Coolest Thing ever. I think we paid $7.50 for (check Ebay - now worth about $300 which makes me feel very posh when I grind my coffee).
And it was more that a great find for us. It had been donated, rather sadly, by friends of my parents. They had owned it for a few decades. It had traveled with them (even to Saudi Arabia.) But they had reached the downsizing time of their lives, and none of their children wanted "that old clunky thing." So they were very happy to hear something along the lines of "OMG we love that!" (I don't think we did OMG in those days but something to that effect.)
But I ran into a problem in the grocery store today. If I'm going to grind my own coffee, I need coffee beans. What I saw was shelf after shelf of K-pods. And a lesser quantity of shelves with ground coffee. I finally found a bag of a rather generic brand beans on the lowest shelf. They will do for now until I can find a coffee shop that sells beans (the one on this end of town closed.)
I found myself remembering my childhood, going with my mother to the grocery store. In those days, all you could buy were coffee beans. And built into the shelves was the coffee grinder. You would pick up a bag of beans, pour it into the grinder, select your grind type, and put the bag under the funnel at the bottom. Mom would let me push the button and there would be a most satisfactory grinding noise and the amazing smell of fresh ground coffee and you would pick up the back and re-fasten the wire tab.
Somehow K-cups lack that fun factor. And I fear that eventually I'll have to order coffee beans from Amazon.
But coffee is not what I was going to write about tonight. I'm writing about Harry Potter World. Kim, Diane, and I are going for a few days next week. And while not as badly as I did when I was getting ready to go to Boston last October, the panic is starting to set in. I don't want to go. That's not right - I do want to go. I just don't want to leave. I wish I could clone myself. Like my last trip - there's part of me too aware that the last time Bob left home he never came back. And the knowledge that accidents do happen (not helped by a nurse at Shands commenting that I-75 was their best source for donor organs). Who will take care of my cats?
And Bob is here. He surrounds me here. There is a lovely song called "Down in the Garden" with the refrain
I am the rising of the sun
I am the birdsong when the day is done
I am the tear in your eye
I am alive
( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYwPU5rOEVQ )
Going away from that, even for a few days, is hard. But he'll be there, too. We went there 8 years ago but I can still picture him perfectly, holding his arms out to the heat of the dragon's fire, or giving into the temptation of yet one more hot butterbeer.
And in another respect it will be a whole new experience for me. I have always been an introvert, with a tendency to be reclusive. Bob and I were happy just with each other's company. So, at the tender age of 70, for the very first time, I'm going somewhere to hang out with some gal pals. It will be fun, but a little weird.
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