Death of a Coffee Pot

Loving My Coffee

Each year brings new discoveries. I have become aware that I have a great deal of similarity with coffee pots. Maybe this is one reason why I am so fond of them, especially the old timey percolators. The coffee pot is a part of my yesteryear that I have simple, yet fond memories of setting the small pot on the stove and watching the coffee pot begin the rhythmic perk as the dark gold liquid got darker by the second.  Such an irresistible aroma and pleasant sound takes me back when daily activities may have been harder physically, but were more predictable. Being raised on my grandparents farm on and off during my childhood, grandfather would bring in milk and they always had real cream in their coffee or tea in the mornings. I looked forward to real milk with freshly baked cinnamon toast with real butter and brown sugar.

My Grandfather smiled a lot and used to call me pigtails. He liked his coffee and poured it in his saucer to be cooled before he literally slurped the rest up. His antics, was to be the dismay of my Victorian Grandmother who drank her tea very carefully and slowly. Grandfather was the rascal and always had a laugh over almost everything. Grandmother must have counted every chew with her food, slowly and methodically. Grandfather gobbled his food and would dunk his bread in the fresh maple syrup that was available. I first chose to imitate Grandfather because his technique seemed much more fun, but; I soon received correction quickly as “ladies do not eat that way.” Back then, you were taught old traditional values with very high standards. I even learned to curtsy in front of my elders out of respect. Yes, they did that in those days.

My first coffee pot was one of those small aluminum pots that made about 6 small cups. We drank strong, but smooth coffee along with a few escaped grounds. Who cared? We didn’t. My mother would make a pot of coffee and it would be on her stove for the rest of the day. When the electric percolator revolutionized the industry, all of America rushed out to buy one. Then mom kept her pot plugged in all day long. By the end of the day she looked like she was drinking mud.

Today, I still love the percolator the best. I fix my coffee pot before I retire and when I get up before sunrise (early riser), I plug in the workhorse. I have gone through the drippers and they have since passed over to the other side. Although the percolator sounds like it is in agony at 5:00 am coughing and grinding, I have discovered it is like a tractor in a farm, able to go through anything and do anything.