This is my Wednesday post, an excerpt from my upcoming book, Coffee and Me.
Holding the coffee pot felt extremely comforting this morning. I am not sure why, but I am pondering it.
Is it because the pot is bigger? The one I have at work is small. Whatever the reason, pouring coffee this morning reminded me of a scene in The Family Stone where Diane Keaton’s character is upset because the coffee pot has not been refilled. Keeping coffee in the pot is a family rule.
I stopped for a moment and noticed the handle in my hand. That brief pause, the feel of the pot and the simple act of pouring, gave me a moment of grounding.
Then came my first-Sunday coffee dilemma.
On the first Sunday of each month, we go to our friends’ home for house church, and someone brings coffee. Because of this, I tend to think I should not make coffee at home. We are having first-Sunday coffee, after all.
This is odd thinking, considering that every workday I make a cup in the Keurig for my commute, then brew a small pot when I arrive at work. Apparently, coffee in multiple locations only becomes a dilemma on Sundays.
This morning, I searched around, found the bag of Dunkin’ coffee, and made enough for my wife and me.
I chose a small mug with a bear on it. Not the Chicago Bears, although that would be appropriate, too. This bear wears a green hat, a green-and-white striped shirt, and a white apron with a coffee cup on it. He has a rag in his left hand, and with his right, he is offering me a cup of coffee. He also wears cuffed jeans and brown shoes. Looking closer, I notice a green tie.
A properly dressed bear, ready to serve.
The mug once held coffee beans. It was a Christmas gift from my sister-in-law many years ago. I have no clue which year, but I remember the gift.
The beans were brewed and enjoyed long ago. They joined the many cups of coffee we have consumed throughout our lives.
But the mug remains.
It holds a connection to a holiday, to family, and to the act of giving. That little bear is still offering me a cup of coffee, years after the original beans were gone.
Cups and mugs connect us to memories. Sometimes we reach into the cabinet and pull out more than something to drink from. We find a reminder of someone who thought of us, a pleasant moment, or a holiday whose exact year we can no longer remember.
This morning, that bear is a bridge to those memories and a reason to feel grateful for the people who have been part of my days.
The sips I take today are part of my morning ritual: time to reflect, restore, and revive for the upcoming week.
And as I near the bottom of this first cup, my thoughts drift toward my second.
I will walk over to the counter, pick up the pot, feel the handle in my hand, and pour.
What mug in your cabinet is still holding more than coffee?
Here, I made this. My gift to you, for taking the time to read.
Images are from my imagination, generated by AI. Writing is all me.