Coffee to Tea

Michael's Coffee Hop

Ahhh coffee...how do I love thee?

Let me count the ways?

I love thee to the stench of breath you bring
My soul can wake, when ingesting caffeine
For the end of brewing  and ideal taste.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by gurgle, cough, and spit.
I love thee freely, or for dollars a cup;
I love thee purely, black, straight up.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my early hours, eyes stubborn to wake.
I love thee with a love I will never lose
With my saints, I love thee with bad breath,
Colombian, Mocha, or Java- if God chooses,
I shall share a cup better after death. 

Yes. Coffee is special to me. Just the aroma stirs special memories.

Every day at 6:30 AM my dad left for work. Five days a week for over thirty years, my dad went to a job he hated because he had five kids...and that's just what dad's did.

When I was a little girl, I'd meet him dad at the front door so he could pick me up and give me a hug. As I got older (and heavier!) I'd meet him instead with a cup of joe.

I later realized I was a HORRIBLE coffee maker, but he never complained. I got a head pat and a "thank you baby". Then he would settle down in his chair with his newspaper and choked down my cup of love.

One of my saddest, reality smacks to the face was when Dad's cancer treatments made coffee a stomach saboteur. He couldn't drink it anymore because it made him feel sick. But in typical Dad fashion, he simply said, "Not to worry. I'll take a cup of tea."

My dad, Ken.
Always was the most special guy.