A sip of my favorite coffee in the morning is for me nothing less than a gift from heaven. It is more than a beverage, more than a tradition, something near transcendence from where I am to where I would like to start my day.
Morning coffee takes me back to my childhood. My paternal grandmother served me my first cup of coffee when I was ten years old. She’d never heard of dangers from caffeine, so my young age triggered no warnings in her mind. She lived through the Great Depression and served my father coffee soup when he was a boy. Ha! I remember feeling a little sad for my dad when she told me about their coffee soup.
I miss my grandmother more than I can say. Coffee in the morning may be my way of not giving her up to eternity just yet, a tug on the cuff of her sleeve calling her back for another cup of coffee together with me.