coffee, coffee, coffeee

Hmmm first sip of my first cup of dark coffee. Everyday it is like a new experience, I expect that is how drug addicts feel. I think about coffee before I go to sleep and worry about coffee during the week. Do I have enough? Will they always grow and harvest coffee? What was life like without coffee beans? Oh the questions I ponder while looking into the early early morning and waiting for the sun to come out.

My mom, when I was a kid, let me drink her left over coffee. After all the kids were off to school, and I was the only one home, she would pour her cup half full of coffee and half full of milk and a lot of sugar and while I ate my oatmeal, I would drink her coffee. I suppose that is one of my snuggly memories of my childhood. I don’t remember her saying a lot, but I do remember her pouring the milk into the cup and putting sugar in the coffee/milk mixture and handing it to me with a warning to be careful. I also remember her washing the dishes and sometimes I heard her sniffle and saw her wipe away tears. I wonder what made her so unhappy.