Monday, November 24, 2008


A post on a blog that I enjoy mentioned percolators, and that kindled a moment of Thankful, just for the pleasures of the scent of ours perking, the taste of that good strong brew every morning, and the memories which surround a life-long succession of the handy silvery appliances.

One of my Thankfuls is the scent of coffee perking as I emerge from our room or from the shower in the morning.DH insists on pouring my first cup, adding in the little wisp of S&L, pouring in the skim from the fat little red ball-jug, even to the extent of shouldering me gently aside to get to the percolator as I reach for it. I've learned, so I smilingly accept his gracious, loving little morning ritual.

There's something about that perky scent that's not the same as Mr. Coffee or any of the other brewers. It's the scent of my childhood, as my parents consumed the entire pot before starting their day; it's not the same as the throaty purr of the Senseo as she bends gracefully over the foamy cup, or the sussssssh of the Ibrik conjuring up that strong, proud stream.

When my Sis was just here, I set up two pots each night, to be plugged in by first-one-up in the morning---a regular eight-cup one for BIL, who cannot drink caffeine, and the 12-cup big guy for Sis and me. Family tradition, as we've never been without a percolator in either household.

Though I DID, last time we bought one, have to explain the term to the two young clerks at Sears, who were still speaking wonderingly of the concept in what-will-they-think-of-next voices as we left the aisle.

Small Thankfuls---this is just one of legion.


Anonymous said...

The morning coffee, facilitated by the spouse. It is a moment of praise and grace.

Keetha said...

Everyone in my family owns at least one perculator and if the cord stops working, it's hard to find a replacement! Tupelo Hardware (where Elvis Presley bought his first guitar) has them and my grandmother went in to get a spare for her. Then she decided to get two. Then she decided to get one for my dad, my uncle, my aunt...

The sales clerk waiting on her finally said, "Ma'am, how many coffee pots do you own?"

racheld said...

When you find 'em, better get one---we always seemed to stay one or two ahead, and when my folks' pot would finally wear out, we'd go on the hunt all over town here to find one for them.

They'd always be glad to get a new one, and it would always re-generate the story of the year long ago, when Daddy's company gave them one for Christmas, and the cord went out to the burn-barrel with all the Christmas wrappings.

Neither one ever let the other one forget that.

And those moments of just-us-awake, the simple honesty of that hand-held cup, proffered to me in the age-old gesture of kindness and sharing, in the quiet of the meditative time before the REAL day begins---Praise and Grace indeed.

Klary Koopmans said...

rachel, how wonderful to find another place to savor your writing. Keep blogging!

Anonymous said...

Ah, rachel, I am thankful for your words, words I can taste and smell and feel and savor.

Thank you.