Making Peace with Coffee

Those reports you read about coffee being good for you? Do you believe them?

I'm almost as skilled as a liberal economist at living in a state of denial, but I have to be honest about this thing. I know I'd probably be better off  -- health-wise -- without coffee. I won't bore you or depress myself with the list of reasons. Sigh... It is what it is.  And I'm not shy about admitting that I'm sitting here with a cup at my elbow as I type. Mental health counts for something, right?

I have a new doctor that's helping me kick Lyme's, and I think she understands this. I liked her from the first moment I laid eyes on her; she's a wonderfully cute and upbeat little thing. And so smart! (As an aside, how crazy is it, y'all who are my age, when your doctor is the age of your children? It's not that you take them any less seriously, but you have to refrain from calling them "dearie"...) Anyway, Dr. J and I were going over my diet the other day (I'm on a fairly strict version of the Paleo diet right now), and I didn't really want to know, but in the spirit of at least appearing to be serious about a cure, I asked her: "So... What about coffee? Will I have to give it up?"

Her eyes followed the dotted line my eyes were making to the half-consumed cup of joe next to her laptop. She sighed, fixed me with a telling look of  impending doom, and said, (insert dramatically low cello notes here) "Not. Yet."

I grimaced. She laughed. It wasn't funny.

Lent is coming.

Mr Coffee

 As soon as he was big enough to take on the job, our morning bird, hopped-to morning coffee detail.  Crack of dawn, the smell of coffee drifts through the house and we know our youngest boy is up and at 'em.  This kid.  He even makes a mean bulletproof -- blender and all.  Then brings it to me every morning, first thing.  Sometimes before I'm ready to get up, bless him.

My William.  He never fails me.

He told me so himself this morning when I thanked him.  "I never fail you!" he says -- with a pause...

 "Except once."

"How's that?" I ask

"Once I started everything and forgot to put the pot back under."

"Uh oh," I said.  You see, our particular coffee pot doesn't have the "pause" feature that stops the brewing when the pot is removed.

"It was a coffee disaster," he recounts, and warming up to his story, he perches on the side of my bed.  "It took fifteen paper towels -- and they were all dark brown when I was finished.  And two towels -- also dark brown.  You'll find those in the laundry room."

"Seriously?" I ask, not remembering seeing these towels.  "How recently did this happen?"

"Very  recently."

I raise my eyebrows as I lift my cup of BPC to my lips.  "Like... when?"

"Like: just now."

Ha!  Caught!  Little stinker.  He says he cleaned it all up.  But we all know how well this little baristo cleaned up that coffee mess, don't we? =sigh=  But, it's all good.  It's a small price to pay for free coffee delivery and this happy smile in the morning.

I guess I'll go check out the damages.  As soon as I finish this cuppa coffee here.  I have a full day ahead of me.  Seeds to get started and set out to germinate.  And I started a part-time job at an antiques store down the road, so have to go to work this afternoon.  More on that later!

But for now.  Hope everyone's day starts out with smiles and no spilled coffee!  Happy Saturday, everyone!  Can you believe we're finally w

arming up to start Holy Week! Hope everyone's is blessed and fruitful.

Coffee and Conversation

 It's Easter Monday; my heart is full of the joy and meaning of the Resurrection -- and my mug is full of coffee.

 ==contented sigh==

There's a great Lenten meme out there somewhere (I know it's out there; I just can't find it) that says something to the effect that Lent is good for helping you find out what you're addicted to.

And I am addicted to coffee.

I really did give it up for Lent, though, really and truly.  I conquered the physical reality of the addiction, drinking it solely on Sundays -- but I admit that, emotionally,  the coffee was always still in control. Though I may not have actually partaken during Lent, I most definitely coveted.

That doesn't diminish the effort does it?

Hi, my name is Lisa -- and I'm a coffee addict.  Over the last forty days of not drinking coffee, I have spent a ridiculous amount of time thinking about coffee -- about: 1) how much I missed coffee, 2) what I wouldn't give for a cup of coffee, and 3) how many more days until I could have coffee...  I pinned scads of coffee images and recipes on Pintrest, too, and bought six bags of Starbucks Sumatra beans (my favorite) when they went on sale at the grocery store. One night I dreamed that I smelled coffee brewing downstairs; it was so real, that dream, that it woke me up -- and I tiptoed downstairs to see if there really were coffee in the pot.  If there had been (and there wasn't, darnit)... I fantasized about actually pouring myself a cup, thinking that the whole episode could have been misconstrued as a dream -- whether it were or not.  Such are the desperate longings...


But here it is finally:  Easter Week!  The sun is shining, the birds are singing, there is coffee in the pot!  And life is good.  Got up at 6 a.m. yesterday to brew a pot of rich dark Sumatra, had two cups before Mass -- and I've lost track of the cappuccinos and iced coffees I've had since.   If you could tap into my coffee jitters and the children's sugar buzz as a source of energy, you could light up the whole Las Vegas strip right now.

Guess I really ought to channel all this excess "energy" toward something useful, huh?  Like finding coffee recipes and sharing them!

Here's a good one:

Easy Delicious Iced Coffee

1 empty Quart Jar
1-2 cups strong black coffee (depending on how strong you like it)
1/2  cup sweetened condensed milk
1/2 cup vanilla almond milk (or equivalent in regular whole milk and/or coffee creamer)
As much ice as will fill the rest of the Quart Jar

Stir all together -- and enjoy!

*  The surgeon general has determined that drinking a quart of iced coffee is not compatible with accomplishing any task requiring fine motor skills -- or going anywhere outside a quick jog to the little girls' (or boys') room.

Love and Chocolate

The First in a Continuing Series...

About Love

and Chocolate.

Coffee Cups

We have a cupboard -- you know, the kind that goes back way deep into the corner -- full of coffee cups.  We have bits and pieces of acouple of  matched sets, plus several tall, colorful "theme" cups; one has snowmen on it, another is one I painted at a ceramics shop.  Several we've had so long, I don't know where they came from, and I don't know why I keep them - like this one, for instance:

I was pulling out a cup after Mass this morning, to serve as a middleman from the coffee pot to my lips -- as I am feeling in particular need of a caffeine jolt --  and this little old brown cup was front and center.  Where it came from I have no idea, but look at that cup.  Check out the little tiny handle on it.  My city grandfather (whom we called "Pappy")  was a big coffee drinker.  Got up at around 5 a.m. every day and drank black coffee until the early afternoon, when he switched to Schlitz.   We loved it when Pappy came to visit, as he was generally a very jolly grandfather, but coffee at our house never started his day off well because he hated our coffee cups; the handles were too small.  Like those on that brown cup. 

My grandfather had the thick, craggy hands of a man who had spent a long life working hard with his hands, and it offended his sense of manliness, I think, that our cups were too small for his fingers. He also had a problem with the lid of our sugar container, because it required small, dextrous fingers to get ahold of.  And, though I don't remember him actually complaining, I wouldn't wonder if he weren't underwhelmed with the coffee in the cup, as well.  My grandmother brewed a serious pot of coffee, black as night, strong as Atlas, with enough punch to propel you into the next day.  My Mom's coffee was (and is) dainty and subtle or -- as Pappy probably thought -- pretty limp-wristed in comparison.  Though we kids did our best to keep our grandfather on his toes bright and early in the morning, I think he'd rather have had some nice strong coffee in a more manly cup.  Poor Pappy.  I'm having a good strong cuppa joe thinking of him this morning -- and it's in a cup with fairies and flowers painted on it but the handle is big enough even for his thick fingers.   

Funny the things you remember, isn't it?

Lisa's Pre-New-Year's-Resolution Guide to Looking Skinny Even When You're Not

1.  Stand very tall.  Think skinny and long, and in the Mind Over Matter philosophy, you will be thin and tall. Mind over matter. If you believe it hard enough, it just may happen.  (No, really!)   Picture the top of your head moving upward to the sky, pulling and thinning the body beneath it, like a little round piece of chewing gum being stretched.  Or like taffy.  Or a tootsie roll.  Or a strand of spaghetti pulled off a plate -- No, forget the spaghetti; that's just weird.  Go back to taffy.

2.  Think Vertical. As per #1, vertical means "skinny."  You've never seen a fat-looking zebra, have you?  Well, then.  Wear vertical stripes somewhere on every outfit.  Drape long winter scarves over your shoulders.   Wear gaudy sweaters over white shirts, but leave the sweater unbuttoned so it will look like you're only as wide as the white shirt that shows in the middle.
  
Conversely, never, ever, ever wear round-about stripes!  Don't even let your children wrap their arms around you in public.

3. On the other hand, do use your children and husband as props. One child in front of each hip does wonders to hide the chocolate coffee creamer you've been drinking all Advent. And tucking half yourself behind your husband makes it look like you're one of those schmaltzy, cozy couples; nobody needs to know that you're using your honey for camouflage.

Illustration: If she had just pulled her son around to the other hip, this woman could have lost another twenty to thirty pounds visually.

4. If you can't hide, however, Distract.  Wear jingle bell earrings -- or snowmen, or candy canes, or six-inch long sparkly earrings -- anything to draw attention from your midsection and up to your ear lobes.  Everyone has skinny earlobes.

5.  Give off the illusion that you are completely comfortable with your weight.  A confident, happy woman with a healthy self-image overcomes any weight issues.  Make it seem as if dieting is the last thing on your mind; you have more important things to take care of, certainly, and the world should not think that vanity is more important to you than happiness, right?  Be the jolly party-goer!  Chocolate Fudge?  Why not?  Hot Buttered Rum?  Go for it! The New Year will be here before we know it.  Then everyone can be miserable, dieting together.  But, it's the Christmas season now!  Hide those pounds behind your Christmas Spirit!

* I toast my fellow plump revelers with eggnog in my coffee this morning!  Cheers!  Today we justify, tomorrow we die-t.

Because Fried Eggs and Bacon Go So Well With Coffee

(And because a couple people asked)

How To Care For Cast Iron 

I. Before you use your cast iron, make sure it's well seasoned.
   Sometimes -- in fact, most often if you buy your cookware new -- it will come already seasoned.  However, if you inherit it, or if you get it at a thrift store or garage sale (great places to find cast iron!), you'll likely need to give it some "lovin."  Very often people give away their cast iron because they haven't learned how to take care of it themselves.  But (HA!) their loss is our gain.

So, here's what you do. 

1. Preheat your oven to 350 and put a sheet of tin foil (or two), a little bigger than the size of your pan on the middle rack.
2. Using the cheapest oil you can -- don't waste your good olive oil -- coat the bottom of your pot or pan with a thin layer of liquid oil (If you're using Crisco, melt it first).  It should be more than a "spraying" of oil and less than a puddle.
3.  Turn your cookware upside-down over the aluminum foil and let it bake for 1 hour.
4.  After an hour, turn the oven off and let the pan slowly cool inside the oven.  This takes a couple of hours.  Then you're set to cook.

II.  Now that your cast iron is seasoned, there are certain measures it's important to take in order to keep the seasoning.

First, what not to do:

1.  Never, ever wash your cast iron with soap.  I know this is counter-intuitive, but the process of oiling and heating your pans kills any bacteria.  And soap will literally wash off your seasoning and cause your cast iron to rust.
2.  Never soak your cast iron, as this will also wash off your seasoning.
3.  Never take a hot pan and put it directly into water.  Let it cool before washing.

Now what you should do:

To wash
1.  Always scrape your pan well for cleaning, removing all debris from all the sides.  You can use a good metal spatula for this, a spoon, or something like my favorite little scraper gadget, shown here.
2. Wash with plain, lukewarm water.  Scrub with a wire scrub  brush or an abrasive sponge if needed.
3. Then dry thoroughly with a dish towel.  Avoid drip drying.

To cook
1. Either right after washing and drying or right before cooking, give your cookware a good coating of cooking spray or a rub of Crisco or other such grease. 
2.  When beginning to cook, heat your pan slowly, allowing the grease to "settle" in your pan. Avoid bringing your pan to a high heat too quickly.

A well cared-for set of cast iron can be a family heirloom, lasting many many years.  It's easy today, being used to supposedly non-stick pots and pans, to think that we shouldn't have to spend any care on our cookware.  But, seriously, how long has a non-stick pan ever lasted in your house?  Unless you are the most meticulous of cooks (Monk-like) and/or you don't cook much, the non-stick doesn't last more than a couple of years.  In our house, it's even less.  It scrapes and peels off eventually, no matter how much I warn our cooks to use the rubber spatulas.  We've tried many brands over the years, from the least to the most expensive, but we always come back to the old cast iron.

It takes  just  a few seconds more attention to grease the pans, and only a little detour from the norm to remember not to wash with soap.  And it's lovely to use the good, solid, thin-edged metal spatulas with no prick of conscience whatsoever.  We think it's worth the effort.  I expect my children to fight over who gets these pans in the will someday.  Especially the beloved Egg Skillet. (Shown left)

Check it out.  Just the right size for a two or three-egg breakfast.  Over easy, a little salt and pepper.  Side of toast with butter.  And a cup of coffee.

 Perfection.

Early Morning Coffee on the Back Porch

...with my honey ~ who would shoot me if I blew up an extra large photo of him here... (Having: freshly ground Starbux French roast, French vanilla creamer, and a tad of sugar)

And a hummingbird  ~ who doesn't care how big the picture is. (Having: Sugar, water, hold the coffee and cream)

Early Birds

I'm not really an early bird, but I'm not particularly a night owl, either.  I generally sleep best between 11 pm and 7 am.  Unless I have insomnia.  And then I am most decidedly not an early bird.

I had insomnia this morning --  what we call "reverse insomnia" because, instead of having trouble getting to sleep at night, I wake up in the wee hours of the morning and can't get to sleep.  So I was awake  this morning from 4 am until some time after 6:30 when I finally drifted off again. To be awakened at 7 am by my six-year-old wandering  around outside my bedroom window making "coo coo" noises at the top of his voice.  And then my four-year-old climbs in bed with me and snuggles in right up next to my back -- which is lovely, but not sleep-inducing.  Then at quarter of eight, my husband comes in and says, "There's a garage sale lady out there and she's buying all your wrought iron."

Well, it's wonderful that someone's buying all my old wrought iron, but, first of all -- well, seriously.  All the signs and the Craigslist Ad clearly state that the sale starts at 9 am, not 7:45 am.  And why on earth does my husband need me with this, anyway??

Well, he's adamant that he does and when he tells me why, I know I'm not going to get to sleep in. You see, in our family I'm the haggler.  He was perfectly happy  all day yesterday toting items back and forth to the garage for the sale.  He gladly helped load things onto trucks for people, and bantered with the good-ole-boys. He even took money if someone just walked up and handed it to him.  But he doesn't mess with dickering.  Period.  And, early in the morning as it was, and as much as he may have wanted to let sleeping dogs lie,  Dan had been presented with a haggling challenge he didn't feel up to.  Here's the story:

When we moved into this old farmhouse thirteen years ago, there was a massive old ice box in one of the outbuildings.  Not a refrigerator, but one of the original, aluminum-lined varieties in which our forefathers cooled food by means of a gigantic block of ice.  It is wall-sized, as heavy as a planet, and really very cool (if you don't mind the pun), wth decorative hinges, and history glowing through the cracks in the doors.  I've said for years I was going to restore it and maybe use it to store board games or something.  But it's a big project, not only because of its size, but one of the doors has a hole punched through the front of it, there are paint splatters all over it, the hinges are wonky, and there are multitudinous traces of generations of mice that have used it as a condominium.  And, with this and that, and all the good intentions in the world, I just never got around to it.

But, this morning at the crack of dawn, a lady spied that ice box in the back of the garage and had to have it.  Dan was out in the trailer doing some work and heard the dogs barking the lady in so he was the first on the scene.  But, he high-tailed it out, when she wouldn't give a price -- and he didn't want to set one either. 

So, he comes in and gets me.  There's no getting out of it; I have to get up, get dressed, go outside, and think before 8 am.    Sigh.  So, anyway.  I love my husband.  I go out.  The woman is very nice but to-the-point.  She looks like she's had her coffee this morning.  We tell her we've seen these oversized ice boxes in pristine condition on E-Bay selling for upward of $1000...  They're rare to find.   But, we know ours is not in great condition.  And we know that it's going to take the WWF to lift it up onto a truck. So, I say, "How 'bout starting at $300?" 

She says, "Oh, I just don't have that..."

And I wonder by her forced aplomb if  Dan had started off this sale by saying if it were him he'd give it away for free.  She looks like she wished I'd never come outside...  

I say something along the lines of,  "Well, this old ice box really is part of the history and provenence of this house... 

She says, " All I have is $90 -- and I'm on my way to work..." 

I think: Oh, fooey. This isn't fair.  I haven't even had my coffee yet and I think I forgot to brush my hair before I came out.

But I say, " Ya know, I'd love to see someone restore this... "

She says, "That's what I'll do."  And looks at me coldly, not taking the bait to come up with maybe a little more on her end...

I think, "Dang. I need some caffeine here."

But, I say, "Well, I'm not taking it with me.  And I don't know if we'll get a whole lot of other offers.  So.  You may be the one to do it.  $90 is fine." 

She gives me the $90, and tells me she'll be back with a truck after work.  And I think, but don't tell her, that I hope she has lots of very strong friends and relations to help her move it around.  And  that she just got a great deal.

I hate early birds.

Now where's my coffee?

Mug in hand...

....but no coffee in the mug this morning.  It's Lent.  I'm drinking out of the Eyore cup and there is some chai tea in it.  And I like chai -- though calling it chai tea is redundant, because "chai" means "tea." (As my son, Kevin likes to remind me..) If you put enough cream and sugar in chai, though, it's delectable.  Like dessert.  But, this is Lent.  Do you suppose it's cheating, substituting something I really like for something I love, something I crave?  Hmmm... 

Don't get me wrong, I do like the tea.  But it is a penance not having my cuppa coffee in the morning. And the mid morning.  And the early afternoon.  But, I can certainly develop the same habit with tea -- again.  You see, I actually drank tea more than coffee for a spate of time a few years back.  During my victorian cottage days, tea was the thing.  For years, I dressed, decorated, thought, and drank in the Victorian motif.  It was a phase I went through and seem to have grown out of.. 

But, it may be that there's something good and fine about the tea drinking part of it that I need to rekindle in myself. I need to develop better method and order in my life and the act of making a proper pot of tea is all that.  It's a ritual: there's the boiling of the water in the kettle and the whistle calling me to come when it's ready; then the heating of the pot with hot water from the tap before pouring the hot water from the kettle over the tea (bags, ball, or leaves) in the pot; then there is the five minute steeping time...  All this before the pouring into prettily painted teacups, complete with accompanying acoutrements: saucers, matching creamer and sugar bowl, teaspoons, spoonrests, and the tea cozy that covers the pot to keep it warm -- such a feminine and nurturing thing, a tea cozy.  You never saw a coffee pot with a little "sweater" daintily stitched to fit over it.  The tea table.  It's all so ordered and so feminine. Look at those lovely ladies sipping tea in the painting up there.  They're so elegant, so charming. 

So not me.

In the passing of years, I have to admit -- I've come to identify more with these ladies:

The coffee klatsch crowd. 

Though it's a lovely and picturesque idea... you know, being dainty and demure, or or even sophisticated and chahming like the tea ladies pictured up top -- I've been through too much to identify with it anymore.  Or aspire to it, really.  There's no sense in pretense. Those smiling ladies in the coffee klatsch crowd with their aprons and styrophome cups are beautifully picturesque to me now -- and more realistic. I understand them and the work and sorrow and happiness and grittiness of their lives, while the refinement and mystique of "tea time," with its image of lace and dainty sipping and time for gentility is a little vague and foreign. It's not my daily life.  It's not in my geneology.

Though a good cup of tea is definitely right there, taste-wise, with a good cup of hot chocolate, it can't match the history of coffee in my bones for flavor enhancement.  The sound of grinding beans -- just the sound of the words "grinding beans" -- speaks to my American working class ethic.  The humid, earthy smell of coffee drifting through the house grabs you by the nose and says: "Come and get it!"  Tea whistles and whines to be taken care of, then after it steeps, the brewed aroma more-like simpers up and taps you on the shoulder, hoping you'll notice. .) 

Where tea is softspoken, coffee is loud.  

Where tea is sophisticated, coffee is homespun. 

Coffee is..

White ceramic cups at midwestern truckstops,

Styrophome cups sipped at a traffic light . 

It's wood and steel and cables and hardworking tabletops,

Grounds like earth, honest and forthright.

It's Saturday morning with eggs and bacon, 

Starting another pot when the last cup's taken; 

All-nighters studying for final exams,

Up before daylight, preps and plans. 

Made on the run,

Pot set for dawn,

For round eyes and high fives

And days full-drawn. 

Brash and bold, the big brother of tea,

 Coffee is for going.  Coffee is for me

Coffee Tips and Tricks

* First of all, here's Heloise, still going strong after more than fifty years -- on the subject of a "slow" coffee pot:

Dear Heloise:
My coffee maker is getting slower and slower. Could it be the lime deposits in our water, and if so, what can I do about it? Thanks.
Dear Merry:
Hard water probably is the culprit! Especially if you don't have a water softener. However, there is a very easy solution, and it involves my old friend, vinegar! Cheap, safe and green!
Fill the reservoir with straight vinegar, let it go through a brew cycle, then turn off the coffee maker. Put the hot vinegar back in, let sit for about 20-30 minutes, then run through one more time. Run fresh cold water through several times, and you are all set. Don't waste that vinegar! Pour it down the drain to kill bacteria.

* And then there's this: Here are five things to do with the leftover coffee you might have in your pot.  (Never happens here...)

* And here are some things you can do with the leftover grounds. (Got plenty of those!)

* You can go here to find some very interesting hints and tips about adding some pizzazz to your coffee pre- and post-brewing.

*  Then, go here to learn how to do a magic trick that turns a cup of coffee into a cup of coins!

* And if anyone out there learns how to do any of the coffee art tricks below, I gotta hand it to you.  You have more talent, patience, and time on your hands than I do!

Coffee Art

"Coffee"

by Camille Pisarro

(You can find a biography of Camille Pisarro at Biography.com)

Coffee Recipes

for the cheap connoisseur 

(Not as good as Starbux, but quick, easy, and cheap!)

Mocha Coffee

Ingredients :

•1 c Instant coffee crystals

•1 c Hot chocolate or cocoa mix

•1 c Non-dairy creamer

•½ c Sugar

How to Prepare :

1.Combine all ingredients; mix thoroughly.

2.Store in a tightly- covered jar.

3.To serve; put 1 ½ to 2 tablespoons into a cup or mug.

4.Stir in boiling water to fill cup.

5.Makes 3 ½ cups coffee mix or about 25 or more servings.

Vanilla Almond Coffee

Ingredients:

1/3 c Ground coffee

1 ts Vanilla extract

1/2 ts Almond extract

1/4 ts Anise seeds

Directions:

Place coffee in a blender or food processor fitted with a steel blade. In cup, combine

remaining ingredients. With processor running, add flavourings. Stop and scrape sides of

container with spatula. Process 10 seconds longer. Store in refrigerator Yields: mix for
eight 6 ounce servings.

Starbucks Frappuccino Recipe

Imitation Starbux Frappuccino

Ingredients:

2 shots espresso (approx. 3 oz) -

(You can alternate this with coffee that has been run through coffee maker twice.)

2 1/2 cups low-fat milk

1/4 cup granulated sugar

1 Tbls. pectin OR 1 tsp. pectin + 1 tsp. arrowroot

Instructions:

1. Stir sugar into espresso. Cool mixture.

2. Stir milk and pectin into espresso mixture until pectin is dissolved.

3. Fill a glass with ice and either serve mixture over ice, or pour glass contents into blender and blend for 30-45 seconds. Enjoy!

Found these online here.

Do you have any favorite coffee or tea or cocoa recipes?

Had to share this one...

All in fun, y'all!

I love my coffee!

Drinking Fair Trade French Roast these days, brewed from freshly ground 100% Arabica beans. (Yum.)

Oh, and here's a really cool bunch of coffee facts going around Facebook these days!  Fun stuff.

I was gonna take a picture of my cuppa coffee this morning to share one of my favorite drinking vessels, but truth is:  I'm not here.  I get to go hang out with my daughter-in-law while my son does Marine stuff before his Commissioning Ceremony today.  Woohoo!  Fun morning for me -- Big afternoon for Paul.  A very big step.  Will you please remember our new Marine in your prayers, as well as all our young men who fight for our freedom?

It's All About Coffee

The rules are: Post anything you want, so long as it mentions coffee in some way.  It can be a reminiscence, a recipe, a link, or it can include a coffee factoid, such as my entry below.  Feel free to grab the Coffee Club button.  If you'd like me to link your post, just let me know and I'll add it to the bottom of mine.  Or you can just comment on my post! I always love to hear from you. If you're drinking coffee, tell me what your mug looks like this morning! 

 I love coffee; it's so easy to include in an easy-going Saturday morning post.  At the very least, grab a mug and enjoy the following:

THE YEAR 1909

1909 Ford Model R

One hundred years ago.

What a difference a century makes!

Here are some statistics for the Year 1909 :

The average life expectancy was 47 years.

Fuel for this car was sold in drug stores only

Only 14 percent of the homes had a bathtub.

Only 8 percent of the homes had a telephone.

There were only 8,000 cars and only 144 miles of paved roads.

The maximum speed limit in most cities was 10 mph.

The tallest structure in the world was the Eiffel Tower!

The average wage in 1909 was 22 cents per hour.

The average worker made between $200 and $400 per year ..

A competent accountant could expect to earn $2000 per year,

A dentist $2,500 per year, a veterinarian between $1,500 and $4,000 per year, and a mechanical engineer about $5,000 per year.

More than 95 percent of all births took place at HOME .

Ninety percent of all doctors had NO COLLEGE EDUCATION! Instead, they attended so-called medical schools, many of which were condemned in the press AND the government as 'substandard. '

Sugar cost four cents a pound.

Eggs were fourteen cents a dozen.

Coffee was fifteen cents a pound.

Most women only washed their hair once a month, and used Borax or egg yolks for shampoo.

Canada passed a law that prohibited poor people from entering into their country for any reason.

Five leading causes of death were:

1. Pneumonia and influenza
2. Tuberculosis
3.. Diarrhea
4. Heart disease
5. Stroke

The American flag had 45 stars....

The population of Las Vegas, Nevada , was only 30!!!!

Crossword puzzles, canned beer, and iced tea Hadn't been invented yet.

There was no Mother's Day or Father's Day.

Two out of every 10 adults couldn't read or write and

Only 6 percent of all Americans had graduated from high school..

Eighteen percent of households had at least one full-time servant or domestic help...

There were about 230 reported murders in the ENTIRE  U.S.A.!

Plus one more sad thought; 95 percent of the taxes we have now did not exist in 1909

Try to imagine what it may be like in another 100 years.

IT STAGGERS THE MIND !

H/T: Forward from Theresa, through her friend, Murena!  Thanks, girls; this was so interesting!

* Btw: I'm drinking a bold coffee, Starbucks Espresso Roast, out of a blue ceramic cup, with black around the lip of the cup, an orange interior, black line squiggly decorations and the word Colorado on the side. 

Coffee: It's Not Just About the Caffeine

Part II:
If my Mom's parents were Currier and Ives, my Dad's parents were Punch and Judy.  The peace and cozy warmth of our country grandparents' home was wonderful and I'll carry the comfort of those memories with me the rest of my days, but our city grandparents' home was more about animation -- spirited talking, laughter, board games and fire engine sirens... Everything loud and stimulating.  What kid wouldn't love that?

Mommom and Pappy and my father's brother, our Uncle Art, lived in a rowhouse in downtown Baltimore, Maryland, smackdab in the middle of the action.  But, let me tell you, the traffic and fire engines and busy-citiness outside had nothing on my grandparents; there was always something going on at their house, some new gossip or a good argument lively debate, and the three of them were happy to have us come visit and join in or referee.  It was great fun.  In the summertime, a ballgame played as background music and card games on the big front porch would halt mid-play for everyone to watch the fire engines go by. My grandparents and uncle would come running out of the house to catch a glimpse of them when they passed; speculations would be made about where and how big the fire was; debate would ensue.  The card games were occasionally resumed.

Though the "big" furniture in their house dated back to the 1930s, Mommom's kitchen was all done in 1950s kitsch, original to the time.  She was all about bright colors and kooky ephemera. If you looked out the window you could see the pink flamingos, windmills, and little dutch girls in her yard.  She collected elephants and salt and pepper shakers and must have had thousands of them.  Candy or Christmas sugar cookies (during the holidays) decorated the sideboard when we visited and tupperware containers of deli meats and cheeses and special mustards waited in the fridge.  In the bread box, Mommom stocked all sorts of  breads we never got at home: pumpernickel, rye, sourdough -- no Wonder bread for my grandmother!

And there was always coffee. 

My grandmother made stout-hearted coffee, so strong you could stand a spoon in it, my mother said.  My grandfather drank it black -- all day long, but starting so early in the morning, we thought he never slept.  At our bedtime, we'd leave him sitting at the table smoking cigarettes, reading the paper, and drinking coffee* and no matter how early we got up, he'd be there at the table, smoking cigarettes, reading the paper, and drinking coffee.  My mother didn't like the strong, strong coffee and couldn't put enough cream in it, but, even as a child, I liked the very idea of coffee you could stand a spoon in. 

And I like my coffee strong to this day -- or bold, as they say now. Though I grew up to be a country girl and try to recreate  for my own family the comforts of my country grandmother's home, I have to admit I run out and look when a fire engine goes by; I often will turn on a ballgame just for the background noise; and I like a lively debate every once in a while.  And there's no denying it, because I'm the mother of ten children, my life is loud and stimulating -- and goes perfectly with my strong coffee

* Ed. Note (for the sake of my siblings who will correct me): At some point in the afternoon, Pappy's coffee cup would be exchanged for a can of Schlitz Malt Liquor Beer (I can still hear that jingle in my head after all these years).  I'm not really sure, because a kid doesn't keep a tally, but I think he nursed just a couple of cans through the afternoon. 

Other notes on my grandfather: I know it's not a politically correct thing to admit, but one of my fondest memories was getting the high honor of blowing out Pappy's match when he lit up a cigarette. He had a nickname for each of us grandkids, and mine was either "Liza Jane" or "Grammaw" (because I was his oldest grandaughter).  And, this is a somewhat ribauld memory that I hope doesn't offend, but I just have to share it:  Pappy had a little wooden outhouse, about six inches high, with a little hinged door with a crescent moon on it.  We were forbidden to open the little door -- so of course we did.  And for our disobedience, as soon as we cracked the door, the little guy in there squirted us right in the face.  And Pappy laughed and said that's what we got! 

Our grandmother was even sillier, and loved to play games and talk with us children.  I mean really talk; she told us our whole family history, shared with us what was going on in her life (and the lives of everyone she knew), and was really interested in what was going on in ours.  And she was so funny!  Even though she was just this side of tone deaf, Mommom loved to sing, and she got the biggest kick out of serenading us with songs she knew we didn't like.  Remember the song My Name's Not Lisa?  Well, I got an earful of that one for many years.  I'd love to hear her sing it for me now.

(And it wouldn't surprise me much if I did hear it, because she always said she come back and haunt us just for fun...)

Coffee: It's Not Just About the Caffeine

Part I:                             
When I was a little girl, we lived just close enough to both sets of our grandparents to visit each of them a couple times a year. My grandmothers were as opposite as two women could be and their homes were just as opposite, so visiting each of them was a unique treat.

My mother's parents lived about five hours away from us, in a little white house in the woods of North Carolina, a family home for almost a century. They had a big screened-in porch in our younger days with a row of grey-painted rocking chairs and a glider, and the yard was full of trees dripping Spanish moss. We spent a lot of time rocking on the long porch swatting flies, and many a hot summer afternoon playing Star Trek in the crepe myrtle trees. The kitchen was paneled in pine, seasoned to a warm toast-brown patina; white ruffled curtains hung at the window. My grandmother always had a Currier and Ives calendar hanging on the wall and a silver percolater plugged in on the counter. The big old white stove in the corner had cooked so many egg and bacon breakfasts we fancied it might be able to do it all by itself. Except for we couldn't imagine that stove without our grandmother leaning over it.

My mother's mother was a tiny, pretty woman with beautiful brown eyes and snowy white hair, such a contrast to my grandfather who was a giant of a man, balding and blue eyed. Her name was Mamie, his was John, and their tender devotion to one another was a thing of beauty we recognized even as kids. Every morning, before anyone else was stirring in the house, we would hear my grandmother's slipper-scuffs tread softly across the living room. There would be a pause and the quiet noise of her working in the kitchen, then the sound of her padding back to bed. We would hear the low murmer of our grandparents' voices, and then the sound of the percolator swooshing and "kagunking" in the kitchen. Several of us, hearing our grandparents were up, would go join them in their big four-post bed and add to their gentle discussion, while the smell of the coffee wafted in from the kitchen.

Mommom (we called her "Mommom") would get up after a bit and bring back a cup of coffee for Poppop (that's what we called him), and we would talk and giggle until the dim light of early morning brightened the room. Mommom would get up after a bit and shoo us out so she could dress, then she'd go out to start the breakfast: bacon and eggs, her biscuits, and another pot of coffee before the morning was through. The grown-ups would be stirring their second cups and talking around the kitchen table as we headed out to play in the trees, the smell of bacon and coffee lingering on our clothes.

Life was good.

And it's been good visiting with you this morning in my country grandmother's kitchen.

Next Saturday morning: My Baltimore city Grandmother