Drinking coffee at home

It's just not the same. My daughter asked if I'd like to have a nifty, expensive one cup at a time brewer for a Christmas gift. No, I said honestly, I like to go out, read the newspaper, listen to music, sit by the fire, and chat with the neighbors and strangers. Like the other day. After getting a refill, I stopped at a table of a man I've been nodding to for sometime. It turns out he comes in only one day a week because he's the care giver for his wife who had a stroke shortly after their 50th wedding anniversary 8 years ago. Some days she's better than others, but he can slip out briefly while she's still asleep. We talked for quite awhile. No, drinking coffee at home is just not the same.

Today I saw Pat. We used to have coffee together at another restaurant down the road. We laughed about "our section," the Christmas parties we used to have, the people who had died, who had moved out of town, and so forth. "And your children?" I asked. "That little girl you adopted?" She's 27 now and has a child, he said. The boy's 25 and in business. The youngest is 19 and in college. No, drinking coffee at home is just not the same.