It started last week, when I was thinking about hurricane Irene, the possible flooding, those who would be without power. My mind took off on a rabbit trail. How would all those Manhattanites survive without their cuppas? I remembered that French press coffee making method. It doesn't require electricity, does it?
Every Friday, like clockwork, I pop into my local Gee-Dub (Goodwill Store) for a quick browse. What did I find, side by side, doppelgangers in the dishware? Two perfectly new French presses marked $3 each, in green wax china marker, looking all lonely and wishing for the kitchen at Willow Manor. I had to. Besides, I had already been thinking about French press coffee. It was fate.
That afternoon, I tossed some freshly ground coffee into one of the cute little glass and chrome pots, added boiling water, waited a few minutes, then slowly pressed the grounds to the bottom. Heaven; and even more so, since I had given up coffee several years ago, to cure my insomnia. To make a long story short, I am now drinking coffee again. It makes me happy. I'm sleeping fine. I love coffee. It was silly to give it up.
"People always think that happiness is a faraway
thing,"
thought Francie,
"something complicated and hard to get.
Yet, what little things can make it up;
a place of shelter when it rains -
a cup of strong hot coffee when you're blue;
a cigarette for contentment;
a
book to read when you're alone -
just to be with someone you love.
Those things make happiness."
Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
