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Pouring my coffee slowly

I have an inexpensive coffeemaker, a gift from my daughter when my “good” one broke, back before she married Mr. Right and moved out. Daughter and I are both coffee addicts. In our old house, we used to instant-message each other, from one bedroom to another:

Time for the afternoon pot?

‘K. Hazelnut or regular?

She worked part time away from home and part time from her computer at home, so we had lots of time for coffee and chats. I, being the one on the main floor, usually did the honors, and once the coffee was brewing, I retreated back to my usual spot at my computer. Then she would come upstairs from her basement digs, pour two cups, and bring them to my bedroom, where my computer lived, which meant that was where I lived too, because I am rather attached to my computer. I would stay in my computer chair, and she would sit on my bed, and we would drink coffee and talk. She would occasionally spill little dribbles of coffee on my quilt. (All is forgiven. I never really liked that quilt anyway.)

We talked about Mr. Right. A lot. We talked about other things, too, but it was always more fun to talk about Mr. Right. Then, after he’d proposed, we talked about weddings and looked at wedding dresses online, and I was appalled at my lack of taste when she pointed it out to me. (Goodness, why doesn’t she want a dress that looks like something from the eighties?)

We went through a lot of wedding-dress websites and a lot of coffee. Then she found the perfect dress for the perfect man, and the wedding day was upon us. My little girl was suddenly the Mrs. part of Mr. and Mrs. Right, and I was making half the amount of coffee and feeling a little lonely when it was time for the afternoon pot.

There’s something funny about that inexpensive coffee maker. If you’re in a hurry and you pour the coffee too fast, it dribbles down the side of the pot and makes a mess on the counter. If you pour slowly, it doesn’t spill. So, you have a choice. Pour fast, and spend time wiping up. Or pour slowly and have no mess. The time you’ll spend comes out about the same.

But pouring slowly, you have time to enjoy the aroma and the sight of coffee swirling into the mug. Pouring slowly, you make yourself slow down, relax, and enjoy the moment. Moments pass by so quickly.

Little girls grow up so quickly.

So do little boys. I wish I could make my six-footers sit down for a cup of coffee with me. Guess I’ll have to instant-message Mrs. Right instead.

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