tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21825814.post115037384262129577..comments2023-09-30T04:12:28.281-07:00Comments on Finding Fair Hope: Coffee, Hope, and a Fresh StartMary Loishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01515655542270431289noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21825814.post-1150391408002911552006-06-15T10:10:00.000-07:002006-06-15T10:10:00.000-07:00Hej ff,I wonder if all these sudden reversals of t...Hej ff,<BR/><BR/>I wonder if all these sudden reversals of the evils of coffee have more to do with supporting the coffee house industry. Who cares I still need my two cups of “Java Joe” each morning. <BR/><BR/>Tomorrow being Fathers Day in the U.S. of A., I thought I would indulge, along with some coffee, a few images of my connection to the mighty brew of memories.<BR/><BR/>I actually can remember first sip of coffee from my father’s mug. It was between the ages of 4 and 5 He was shipping off that day on one his of six-month sea duties with the Navy. He was sitting across the kitchen table in his uniform drinking a cup of coffee. I remember his hands wrapped around the white navy cup, which came from his ship. They seemed to be in procession of something very valuable. The smell was strong as my mom had just perked (remember perking) a pot and the aroma filled the apartment. I got up enough courage to ask for a sip. He squinted his eyes in my direction, “well I don’t think your gonna like it, but sure”. He picked up spoon took some from his cup and as I came over to him gently blew on it to cool it for my young sensitive taste. I sipped the dark brown liquid from the spoon and sure enough, I didn’t like it. <BR/><BR/>The next day he was gone and my mom was brewing another pot. I told her I wanted a cup of coffee in the same cup as my dad had. She placed the gleaming white “Corning” mug in front of me, poured a little coffee into it and like all intuitive moms added a lot of milk and little sugar. There I was, sitting in my father’s chair, having my first cup of coffee, from my father’s mug. My dad is long gone; I have this memory, his mug, and still like my “Java Joe” sweet and light.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com