Why I love coffee

I was probably seven, eight at the most, and it was a very snowy day near Cleveland, Ohio. I was visiting my Grandparents who lived in Lyndhurst. Going to Grandma and Grandpa's house was a real treat as we didn't travel much with four kids and my dad working for the public schools in the late 1950s and early 60s. It was even better that the snow had piled up over the porch almost blocking the doorway so we wouldn't be driving back home tonight. We had to stay overnight. There was that sense of something new and different and exciting about not being able to get back home when you are a kid. Never mind that the cat needed fed, no lights were on at the house, and the water pipes may freeze. We got to spend the night!

Feeling very cozy in my Grandparent's small house with green carpet my sisters and I went to the sideboard and got out the crayons, the black-lined pictures of different song-birds and huddled by the wall where the warm air blew up from the basement below. The adults busied themselves in the kitchen or watched the small black and white T.V. as my sisters and I behaved ourselves and periodically went to the windows to watch the large flakes blow and settle on the drifts covering the yard and road. We could surely dig in them and make snow caves tomorrow if we begged our parents long and hard enough.

There was a knock at the door and there stood the mailman, bundled head to toe in dark blue, ear-flaps down on his hat and big heavy buckled boots covering his shoes. He was invited in to get warm and have a cup of coffee. He gladly accepted.
Off came his snow-covered boots, heavy coat, gloves and hat and the leather mail bag was set by the door. His face was red from the cold but I remember his smile being so wide and appreciative as he was given a cup of freshly percolated coffee.

I wanted to be a part of this- befriending the cold mailman and offering him some reprieve from the harsh weather outside. I wanted to sit and chat with the adults and talk about the weather. After all, I was the oldest girl, so I felt I should be able to participate.
I asked my mom for a cup of coffee too.

Now, not so long ago, it was believed that coffee, if given to children, would stunt their growth, and she made it known to me that day.
I didn't care. I didn't care if I ever grew another inch at that moment. I loved the smell of the ground coffee beans, and still inhale them when I open a bag. I remember going down the coffee isle as a kid in the grocery store and lifting the lid to the grinding machine, just to smell that smell.
My mom got talked into pouring me a small amount of coffee, and added lots of sugar and milk. I inhaled the wonderful aroma in the fine china cup,and took a sip.

I am sure there was cake or cookies that went with the coffee, but I don't remember any of that. I do recall looking out at the accumulating and falling snow, watching red cardinals eat sunflower seeds from the bird feeder, and listening to the soft voices of my Grandparents, my mom and dad and the mailman. And I was completely content and happy.

The smell of coffee brings those memories of long ago, all back to me.