Percolate

Oh, my goodness, another word I love! I can see my mom getting the coffee percolator filled with water, putting the ground beans in the sieve-like container, and pushing the container onto the metal rod that held it upright. Ours looked almost exactly like this one.5201119_rdpercolater

It was the small glass component on the top that fascinated me as a child. The coffee rose and fell, and was visible within the glass ball on top as it brewed.

There was never any question that it would be perking away when I walked into the kitchen, dressed for my first-grade class. The smell was hypnotic and its dependable presence made me feel safe somehow.

My mom had a habit that I have not noticed anyone else possessing. She liked to dip her toast into her morning “cuppa Joe” and would sometimes let me have a taste of her coffee-soaked bread. The flavor I remember, as I remember it, has a strong association with feeling loved.

The cups mom used were thick and sturdy, not quite white in color but not beige. They looked like this:

17877-cup-of-coffee-pv

She put one teaspoon of sugar in her coffee and a dab of cream – real cream. In the winter, when the milkman left his delivery  on the back porch, the bottle would freeze from time-to-time and the portion that rose out of the frozen bottle was cream, I believe.

For most of my life, I did not drink coffee very often. But now, having coffee in the mornings with my husband is one of the happiest and most peaceful times of the day. It’s during these pleasant morning rituals that I remember my mother most.

Advertisements