Coffee, Coffee, Coffee

I don’t have a problem. I swear. Really. (First stage – denial.) Why is Seattle known for great coffee? The weather of course. For each day that’s 45 degrees and drizzly I know I can’t go golfing or swimming, but I know at least I can have a good cup of coffee, or a latte, or a caramel macchiato, or a raspberry mocha.

Well, 9 times out of 10 it’s a 12oz. drip with room or a 16 oz. one-Splenda latte. I have an entire pocket in my wallet dedicated to these frequent flyer cards. As of this publishing date I hold in my wallet a gold Starbucks card, a Caffee Ladro credit card, and an Issaquah Coffee 10 drink card. I can go to two places today and get free coffee because I’ve been so frequently. Where to go? The decision is killing me.

At Starbucks, you get one free drink after 15 purchases. I was a bit embarrassed when I received two cards in the mail in April. And I don’t just go to Starbucks. My Issaquah Coffee card is ready to be redeemed right now for a smooth, velvety cup of liquid goodness (that’s Jana’s line).

If you go to my kitchen, you’ll see an entire coffee cabinet: tumblers, mugs, whole beans, Senseo pods, filters, and even a pack of ground decaf. Below this cabinet of course are the dueling coffee makers: one makes drip, the other makes espresso. We can’t agree on the taste – so we have one for each of us. Our marriage is real teamwork. We share children, bank accounts, and all decisions are made together…but we don’t tolerate each other’s coffee.

When my beloved wakes up, ambles with tiny steps, hair sticking up in 32 directions she blows me a kiss and walks straight for her machine – the one that makes the nasty, bitter, espresso. “I’ve been dreaming about it all night,” she tells me. It’s the true love of her life. The world isn’t right until our coffee makers are set in motion. Her machine elicits a low hum then a hushed release of steam, like an old train. My machine isn’t permitted to operate until all living creatures are awake. Because it grinds the beans first, a sound equivalent to a siren alerting the masses of an impending hurricane whines throughout our home. It is followed by the melodious “drip…drip…drip.” Ahhh the aroma – morning is here.

Fridays and Saturday mornings are the best. They’re accompanied by the newspaper, a blanket, and three little people in their jammies. For about 12 minutes we have silence, at least two warm snugglers per parent (we have animals too), and that taste of sweet nectar.

But I don’t have a problem…Excuse me a moment…“I said, ‘REFILL PLEASE!’ Don’t give me this ‘I’m only five’ business. You know daddy needs his coffee now…And none of that soy stuff your mom uses. Gimme the half and half…Good girl. Thank you, honey.”