Friday, June 19, 2009

Coffee? Despair? Carolina wrens?

I've been flat lately -- hard to explain exactly.

I've search on a superficial level as to what could be the reason for my temporary malaise. If this were the nineteenth century, a doctor would make a house call, give me a dram of laudanum, whisper to my husband, " she just needs some quiet," and I would sleep like Keats.

With a little thought, I've figured the possible source of my "out of sorts"; it could have been, it might have been, or it may not at all have been -- my lack of coffee for the last few days.

Yep, on Wednesday, I made up my pot of coffee, and then I did my normal morning activities. I went to pour myself a fresh cup of java -- and the pot was dead. Dead as in no light on, no coffee in the pot, no heating element -- dead. I was like, "Dang." I unplugged it; I jostled it like my cell phone; I talked to it. Nada. D.O. A. The coffee pot was done. It wasn't gonna all of sudden give me my morning drink.

I did not allow enough time for this wrinkle in my morning -- I couldn't run out for a cup, and I had no time to regroup and boil water on the stove like it was 1965. It was a no coffee beginning.
I had that "missing" something that you feel some days when one variable of your schedule is not the same.

So, later in the day, when I was talking to my sister, she told me that she had a coffee maker that she was no longer using since my brother-in-law quit drinking it two years ago. She said, "I'm pretty sure it's still in the basement."

BTW: To give you a little overview --- my sister's basement is like that scene in National Treasure when they open up that door and you see all of that "treasure."

That's my sister's basement except it's junk. It is packed from top to bottom, from side to side, and it runs the full length of her house. If you go through it, you have to cut a broad path with a machete like Vazquez de Ayllon.

For 10 years she hasn't passed a yard sale without stopping and thinking she has a bargain nor has she turned down anyone who has asked her this question: "Do you know anyone who wants a ________________? We're giving it away."

Fill in the blank -- if you need it, she's got in her basement. I have a nephew who went down there to get screwdriver, and we never saw him again. Oh, we searched for him, but he totally disappeared.. it's like the black hole of her house. I have seen the surviving nephews open up the door and just toss an item... it's that scary.

Her mini van was a Conestoga wagon ready for crossing America. She has unloaded a pin ball machine, an old roll top desk, 44 years of Life magazines, and once, she bought three Oriental rugs at a bargain. She would say, "well, you never know when you need to put down a rug."


So, I stopped at her house to pick up the coffee maker. She was gone for a few minutes, and before I was worried enough for a search party, she pops back out of the basement, and tells me it was right where she didn't look -- "in front of her."

When I got home, I decided that, of course, I would need to clean the carafe, cause I mean it had been "underground" for a couple of years, and lo and behold when I opened the box, the carafe looked "misty" and "foggy." I opened up the top, and GROSS... whoever packed it up did not take out the old filter. That sucker was adhered to the side like paper-mache paste. I washed it and washed it with hot water and ammonia, and then set it up for the next day's use.

So this morning, I'm all perked up for the coffee, after not having it for two days, and so I make it up, and head off to do my Friday morning cleaning. When I came back, all ready for the my coffee and the Internet, there was no coffee in the carafe. Instead, the water was in the top of the basket, leaking out the side like a jetty, and water and coffee grinds were everywhere. I mean, everywhere.

Keats was at the back door off the kitchen. She had been keeping watch that no "vermin" had dared to come on the deck, and when I came into the kitchen, she looked over her shoulder at me and the mess and gave me a look like "yeah, I saw all that, but there was this thug squirrel that was struttin' on the porch that I needed to glare at."

Two days now -- no coffee .. perhaps the source of my despair.

I bought a new coffee maker at Target today; I'll let you know if it helps tomorrow.

Jamie and Kara, former students, called me -- they were giggling like seventh graders on the phone. Their theory is that I was a little down in the dumps cause I missed them. Only not.

Kara has been smackin' her boyfriend too much, and Jamie has been playing softball in the 100 degree weather. I'd say both of them are suffering from a little "heat" stroke.

We have a family of Carolina wrens who have made a nest in our lantana. The momma sits right outside the nest trillin' like a trumpet. There were three eggs in the nest, but momma pushed one to the side. Either it is an interloper, or momma already know she got a child that's gonna be a deliquent.

That's what I know.


  1. I have 35 years of National Geographics and a 1955 Hammond Chord Organ. Please ask Margaret where she wants me to put them. I'm surprised you didn't find a percolator among your sister's treasures.

  2. YES!!!! i made the blog. what a happy day! i had to create a gmail account and everything.

  3. It's sad to check your blog and find you haven't posted anything new. Should I send you a cup of coffee?

  4. hahah yes gillham!!! this is funny :)

  5. Nice simile!

    "If you go through it, you have to cut a broad path with a machete like Vazquez de Ayllon."

    Personally I prefer something a little more macabre and dramatic, perhaps another famous Spaniard:

    "...with a machete like Hernan Cortez going through the Americas."

    Maybe that's a little brutal, but it makes me giggle. I think I might have a sickness.