A Steamy Relationship

A sudden cacophony of voices erupting from the alarm clock propels him out of bed, dislodging me from sleep in the process.  He heads to the only object worth mentioning this early, while I follow, stumbling along blindly.  We enter the kitchen and flick on the lights, startling the cat dozing in front of the refrigerator.  She stretches languidly and shakes her head.  It is now time to begin our morning ritual. 

            It sits on the counter, well-used and surrounded by accessories.  The morning ceremony we perform is centered around it.  It is the reason we wake up each morning.  He opens a cupboard door and proceeds to pull out a handful of small, dark beans smelling of soils and far-away spices.  As he prepares the offering, I carefully fill up a glass decanter with water.  A few moments later, a loud whirring noise announces the transformation of those beans into a gritty powder. After careful measurement, he scoops the grounds into the basket above the carafe.  Quickly, the waiting water is poured into the reservoir in back of the machine.  Soon, a thick stream of murky brown liquid is dispensed into the waiting carafe.  We anxiously watch dribbles of coffee dancing down through the spigot.  As our morning beverage brews, alertness begins to percolate deep inside us.  

            So far, not a word has been uttered; words are not necessary for this process.  Tearing my eyes from the constant dripping, I pull down two mugs, warming them on the top of the DeLonghi coffee maker.  Glancing down at the digital display, I note that there will be time to enjoy my café while working a crossword.  “Creamer?” he asks.  The first word of the day has been spoken.

            A sudden, load gurgling announces the end of the brewing.  Desperately, we fill our glasses to the brim, with just enough room for a bit of sweet cream.  I slowly stir my coffee, watching the rich color dissipate into a warm, velvety milk chocolate.  I can still hear the hissing and boiling of the coffee pot as I take my first sip.  I perch on the counter-top with my eyes closed and hands wrapped tightly around the scalding ceramic mug, only to be nudged by the cat reminding me it is time for her breakfast.  Inhaling the steamy aroma of the coffee, I unfold myself and finish up my morning routine with one hand constantly gripping the gradually cooling cup.

When I am finished, I return my cup to the dishwasher and he follows suit.  Silently thanking the coffee pot, we leave the kitchen, ready to begin our day.  Stepping out into the parking lot surrounding our building, he kisses me and then we go our separate ways. 

A few hours later, I stand in line waiting for the barista to announce my order; I have come to pay homage to it again.

Applesauce Bread and Grandmas

Grandmother. Memere. Grossmutter.  Mommom.  Gran.  Nonna. Mimi. Nan. Grandma. Babushka. Abuela.  Nana. Mamaw.  Nonni.  G-ma.

We all have different names for our grandmothers, but in the end they're still our grandmothers. It doesn't matter if you knew yours or if she is still around.  It doesn't matter if she looks like Mrs. Claus or she runs marathons.  We love our grandmas (even if sometimes we are a little scared of them).

My Grandma means the world to me.  I've always thought so.  In my senior English class, I wrote a paper about her.  I wish I could find a copy of it or remember what it said, though I doubt it did her justice.  I lived with my grandparents for a while when I was younger, and she was there to help raise me.  She has been a source of strength to me throughout my life. Even now, she always makes a point to call and encourage me and to send me funny cards no matter where I'm living or what I'm doing. She probably knows what is going on in my life better than I do! 

Grandma has been an inspiration -- I don't know anyone as brave, hardworking, or down-to-earth.   My grandparents have never had much money, but they make a point to help everyone.  My grandfather still works on the school bus, and he always keeps an eye out for kids that might need some help or encouragement.  My grandmother cooks for a local drug rehab center, her church, and a local camp.  She spreads love though her food. 

One of my favorite wedding presents was given to me by my Grandma. She gave me her mother's recipe box filled with hand-picked recipes that either my grandmother or my great-grandmother had loved.


As a tribute to my grandmother,  I'd like to share a recipe that she gave me.  Actually, this one came from my Great-Grandmother.  I have tweaked it some, but it's still her's.

Applesauce Bread

1 1/2 c. applesauce
1/2 c. shortening, melted
3/4 c. sugar
2 c. flour
2 tsp. soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. cloves
1 c. raisins or craisins
1 c. walnuts (optional)

1. Mix applesauce, sugar, and melted shortening.
2. Dissolve baking soda in a little hot water.
2. Add all dry ingredients, then baking soda. Mix well.

Bake at 350 degrees F for 45-60 minutes.

** I use craisins -- it's less authentic, but sooooo tasty!

YUMMY!