Forever:  Time it takes to brew the first pot of coffee in the morning. -Author Unknown

Ask anyone that knows me, or reads my tweets, and coffee will be mentioned at some point throughout the day.

I simply adore my coffee, and I cannot ever seem to get enough.

I am, however, a bit of a coffee snob. I will not go into just anywhere and satisfy my longing for a hot steamy delicious rendezvous in a cup. I have a burr grinder. I buy whole beans. I will not set my timer on my coffee maker because I like to grind the beans within minutes of brewing. I will not drink coffee that is over 2 hours old. I do not drink instant unless it is to not offend someone I am with. And I still am on the fence as to whether iced coffee is an offense against coffee or not.

 Yes, I have a love affair with coffee.

I savor the taste, the smell, the feel as it touches my lips. I love it hot, so hot that it almost burns as I bring it longingly to my lips. I love the feel of the liquid against my tongue.  I crave it, desire it, want it, just to hold it in my hands, wrap my fingers tight around the mug and hug it close… like a dying man begs for water or air, I yearn for coffee… it is for all accounts an addiction, but one I do not  intend to willingly give up any time soon.

Coffee is soothing balm, it is a memory, and it is a part of my history and most assuredly, my future.

Coffee reminds me of my grandpa Charles, I can see him sitting in his chair at the white long dining room table that still sits in the farm house. He has his donut broken in half, and he is dunking it, slurping it up and smiling as I giggle over the noise he is making and he smiles back at me.

Coffee reminds me of my grandma Ruth and her group of seniors she served for years, as they huddled around the pot and talked about their aches and pains, and invite me into their circle.

Coffee tickles my memory as I fuss at Grandma Theo about microwaving yesterday’s coffee, and making her a fresh pot as she laughs and presses “start”.

Coffee is a good friend pouring her heart out about her dying father in law, and sobbing as her heart is broken and she feels lost. It is the bridge that helps me hold her hand and get her thru the funeral.

Coffee is the special time with my daughter as she tells me the 6th grade gossip over a ‘café mocha’ smiling as she sips it, loving this time with me.

Coffee is the connection to so many memories, and so many things to come.

When strength is needed, an espresso is there to shoulder the burden, to comfort, a latté is ready to be soft and loving, homebrew is a memory of what grandma made, instant is a reminder that not everyone has what you have, and whole beans are a smile in a cup

Coffee connects people from all walks of life, all backgrounds, ethnic groups, socio-economical status.  It bridges gaps, opens doors, helps business meetings, makes friends out of strangers, helps students study, keeps mamas awake after long nights, comforts after death, and greets you every morning.

So perhaps I’m a tad extreme, maybe I’ve over thinking this whole post, but the power in that cup, the ability of what it can do, the memories that is has for me, and the promise of more to come, are as enticing  as the smell of a fresh opened bag of dark roasted coffee beans.

Oh look, the pot is brewed, it is time for another cup… join me… make a memory with me… and yes, if you had to ask, there is always plenty.

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