Two weeks ago I read on Facebook about a woman from my hometown of Hancock that wondered if anyone had a coffee maker she could use until another could be bought. Her machine had passed over into the place used grounds go, and was thinking about where to get the next cup.
It truly made an impression on me when a woman in the village offered to bring her a cup on the way when the kids were taken to school. Another offered, in light of COVID still being a real concern, to bring her morning coffee and just leave it on the back table. No contact delivery! Small towns are known for that type of living and caring.
That post came to mind this morning as I went about my routine of turning on the coffee maker and then going about our home opening curtains and shades. I picked up the morning newspaper from the front stoop and pulled a mug from the kitchen cabinet. It was then I noticed there was no aroma of coffee to welcome me to another day. Instead, I was greeted with an error message on the machine which when translated from Google into frustrated caffeine-deprived lingo equaled ‘buy a new machine’.
While hot water was boiling for my French press, I needed to again be mindful of what a coffee expert suggested.
I then pulled up my favorite business in the entire world, Amazon, and started to pursue new coffee makers. Once the boiling water was added to the freshly ground magic from last night, I asked Siri to set a 4-minute alarm. Just as the alert was audible I noticed smoke was being strongly smelled in our office.
While I was in the throes of a coffee crisis James’ spring-form pan for his homemade lemon-vanilla and blackberry cheesecake with a ground pecan and molasses crust had a small drip, drip, drip onto the hot oven. Smoke was created of the type one might expect prior to a singer stepping through it to wow an audience in a stage production. With swift moves, the oven was wiped clean and a ‘hot-water bath’ style of baking his creation was found.
It was then I read an email from a man who was to install our outside french doors Tuesday morning, alerting me to a forecast calling for rain. The project, understandably, was delayed for later in the week.
This all occurred before even the first sip of morning coffee. Well, it is Monday, even if a Holiday.
The serendipity part of this story is this long weekend I am reading The Coffee Trader by David Liss. This author writes his remarkable stories with equal intensity with both history and finance. I am enthralled with his abilities with storytelling.
Amsterdam in the 1690s – a boom town with Europe’s biggest stock exchange and traders who will stop at nothing to get even richer. Lienzo, a Portugese Jew, stumbles across a new commodity – coffee – which, if he plays his cards right, will make him the richest man in Holland. But others stand in his way – rival traders who do all in their power to confuse the exchange and scupper his plans, his brother who is jealous of his financial wizardry and even his brother’s beautiful wife who both tempts and spurns him in equal measure.
I have seven chapters left in the book and if my Adirondack chair does not fall apart as I sit down, or a large branch of a tree let go over my head, or an errant neighborhood frisbee smacks me in the head the rest of the day looks better.
I can say that now since I have finished my first cup of java!