The Search for the Perfect Cup of Coffee

My husband Tom has been on a quest for the perfect cup of coffee since we got married, and I’m not entirely sure why. When we met he was drinking instant coffee from a dirty mug with powered creamer. When we would visit his family at their family business he’d drink day old coffee from the coffee machine in their garage. “It’s not any good unless your tongue goes numb!” he’d say. We got one of those Mr. Coffee automatic drip coffee makers as a wedding gift, which provided me with my one cup in the morning and filled his thermos for the rest of the day. Then somewhere along the way he said “This coffee doesn’t taste very good.” Suddenly we were on the hunt for a different type of coffee maker because his friend, who is a chef, said that the water has to be brought up to a certain temperature in order to properly brew and that the only way to do that is with an old fashioned percolator. So we got a percolator. It took a little longer in the morning but I got my one cup and he put the rest in the thermos and took it to work. About 10 years ago he decided he was drinking too much coffee and it was getting to him. We talked to some friends who had a “Toddy” cold brew system. It was a little labor-intensive but you ended up with coffee that was supposedly more smooth with less caffeine (unless you drank the concentrate without diluting it). We did that for a while until Tom gave up coffee altogether. I continued on with that system for my one cup of coffee (until it got to be a chore for just me) then a I tried series of other quick ways to make just one cup in the morning until the invention of Keurig, which only brews one cup at a time. The Keurig was perfect because I was the only one who drank coffee. Then Tom decided he missed it and was ready to come back. Around that time Sammy and Robby started drinking coffee so my little one-cupper wasn’t enough and we switched to a better model that kept the water hot. But Tom wasn’t happy. “It doesn’t get the water to the right temperature. The coffee from the gas station tastes better than this does!”

“Then get your coffee from the gas station because it tastes fine to me.” Nevertheless, we found ourselves in Bed Bath & Beyond, replacing my Keurig with a Bunn automatic drip coffee maker. So we’ve come just about full circle.  An the funny thing is, it has all, always tasted the same to me. Will Tom ever get his perfect cup of coffee? I’ll let you know when his tongue goes numb.

To Confess or Not to Confess?

I was having a texting conversation with a friend about some shoes I was considering buying. They were a little pricy, but of course I could justify them due to the increasing number of mornings I hobble out of bed with foot pain,(If you don't know what I'm talking about just wait, 40 is right around the corner). They are the Dansko brand which are expensive by nature, but I had found them online at a good price, (score!). The conversation was about whether or not I should confess to Tom that I was planning to get these very necessary, yet wallet-squeezing pair of shoes.

"I just have to decide if I'm going to sneak-buy them now and take the consequences later or be a grown up and say something before I buy them" I said.

"Say something now and get it over with and buy them...it's a great price!" was her advice.

So I humbly confronted Tom to tell him I was getting these shoes because I really need them and they are really a bargain, compared to full price! It actually didn't go as bad as I thought. In fact, I don't know why I'm so reluctant to divulge my little spending sprees, which really don't happen that often. Maybe it's because as wives and mothers, we don't feel like we deserve to indulge a little on ourselves every once in a while. I mean, I have shoes that are older than Sammy, so why do I feel like I need to ask permission to replace them? Maybe it's because there's always someone else who needs something so we feel guilty putting ourselves ahead of someone's new pair of winter boots.

If I'm confessing here I probably should say that my sneak-buy it now-repent later spending isn't anything new. Tom has already learned the old "buy something and destroy the packaging-leave it in the closet for a week and then wear it saying that it isn't new" a long time ago. Now he says "When'd you get that?" instead of "Is that new?" I'm really trying to turn over a new leaf, especially after last tax season when I had to sit next to him and scroll through pages of books I had bought off Amazon for my classroom without his knowledge. And then I wonder why he thinks I spend more that I really do? So I humbly pledge to turn over a new leaf. No more sneak-buying...right after I check out the sale at Old Navy.

The Epic Battle of the Furnace

Every year around this time Tom and I go head-to-head in a battle of sorts.

It isn’t a battle about the children, pets or vehicles. It isn’t even a battle about the toilet paper roll (a battle going on for the past 20 years, it will not end soon and it will not end well). The battle I am talking about is the battle of the furnace.

Shortly after we returned from spring break, “click” off went the furnace. It was a beautiful Easter morning with snow gently falling while my teeth chattered. What is going on? Wait. Let me guess. I went over to investigate and sure enough, the furnace was off. So, I quietly turned it back on … and up.

My husband, Tom, is a hopeless optimist, especially when it comes to spring. He simply cannot wait to ride his motorcycle or grill stuff on his super-deluxe grill. As soon as the Easter snow melted, the winter coats were boxed up and the doors propped open.

“It’s 40 degrees out!” I protested.

“It’s spring!” he grinned. “Boys! We’re getting the deck furniture out of the shed!”

Then it snowed again. I considered posting an apology on Facebook since it was our premature placement of deck furniture that caused a round of flurries. Once again, I found myself wearing fleece pants, double thick Christmas socks and bootie slippers. Once again, I checked the furnace. “Doggone it!”

And “click” I turned the furnace back on.

This past weekend it was relatively warm, but not the 70 degrees they promised us.

I unloaded and loaded the dishwasher Saturday morning and thought to myself, “I should be warm, but for some reason I’m not … well, whatdaya know?”

You guessed it. The furnace was off again. This time it was a little more understandable. It had been a really warm week, but we have such a well insulated house it can be pretty warm outside. But, it will be nose-cold inside.

Since Tom was working in the garage I took the opportunity to check the furnace, find it turned off, and turn it back on again. When he came back in and heard it running I said, “Don’t you turn the furnace off, it’s freezing in here!”

Later I went into town and came back to find Tom out on a ride. Gosh, my feet just wouldn’t warm up even after I put on my super warm socks and a sweatshirt.

The furnace was on … or was it? Nope. Off again. So I did what I always do and turned it back on.

Our little battle is usually a friendly one and fortunately, like many other things, reminds me winter is on its way out along with my fleece pants, double-thick Christmas socks and bootie slippers.

Men: Don't Try to Understand the Shoes

Sorry I'm a little late getting this one up. I'm consumed with second grade! Here's August's column!

There are some things about women that will always be a mystery to men, like our love of shoes. I went to Walmart recently to purchase plastic shoe boxes to use as book totes in my classroom. I needed roughly 40 boxes because I was sorting my books into categories. When I told the cashier that I had 8 five-packs she looked at me funny. “What are you using those for?” When I explained she said “Oh, I thought you had that many pair of shoes.” I laughed for a second, but then I said, “Well, actually, I probably do.” When she looked at me with a shocked expression, I continued with “uh, that includes sandals and flip-flops too, you know?” Then suddenly the woman behind me in line piped up “And the shoes you don’t wear anymore.” Then the cashier joined in and described a pair of boots she only had worn once because they were so uncomfortable but she couldn’t bear to get rid of them. My love affair with shoes began when I was in high school. A friend of mine had a 3 tier shelf that extended the length of her closet and was covered with shoes. She had seasonal shoes, boots, athletic, casual, and dressy shoes. I gazed with envy at that beautiful shrine of shoes and decided then and there that I would have to have just as many. Fast-forward to 2012 and my 40+ pair of shoes. My husband doesn’t seem to understand my need for a variety of footwear in an assortment colors and styles. The topic came up in a conversation with our friends a few months ago. Lisa had gotten a new job and would need shoes she could wear to work and stand on her feet in all day. She needed two pair- one brown, one black. Her husband didn’t understand the need for both brown and black as the shoes were a bit pricy.  While I thought she could uses several other colors, depending on her wardrobe, my husband piped right in and explained how I have to purchase a new pair of athletic shoes every time I take up a new sport, which in his opinion was utterly ridiculous. You’d think that after 20 years of trying to explain it to him he’d understand my reasoning. The shoes must fit the purpose in both color and style.  I think my friend Keni summed it up best when she was explaining to her son the reason why his younger sister would be getting the room with the bigger closet in their new home.  She said, “Boys only need 3 pair of shoes: school shoes, gym shoes, and church shoes, but girls need lots and lots of shoes.  So your sister needs the bigger closet to hold her shoes.” So simple, yet so true.  I guess there are just some things guys will need to accept without ever fully understanding. Love me-love my shoes.

Patience: The Greatest Sacrifice

For almost 20 years I have fought long and hard to secure and keep my well-deserved spot in garage. I feel that as a contributor to the mortgage payment, having a spot reserved in the garage for my car should be mandatory. My struggle for garage space has gone all the way back to our first rented home in Sault Ste. Marie. It had a one stall garage that was claimed as my husband’s man-cave before we even moved in. Our next house had a two car garage that quickly became a workshop/pool hall. “When will I be able to park in the garage?” I pleaded. He assured me that he would build a garage that I could park in. That dream became a reality when our beautiful 2 ½ car garage was built and I finally had a place where I could park out of the Sault Ste. Marie elements. Shuffling outside in my coat and slippers to start my car was no longer necessary with it tucked away in its own little stall. When we moved down here I was without a garage space once again. Since all we had was a small shed, we decided that a remote starter would be an alternative to a shelter for my car. That helped, but it wasn’t a garage. The first house we built had a 2 car detached garage and I could once again park in luxury. Our current home has a glorious two car attached garage. For the first time in our married lives I was able to drive home in the rain or snow and pull into the garage that led straight into the house. I no longer had to dart to the car in the midst of a downpour or gale-force winds. However, my coveted space in the garage was short-lived. About two years ago Tom embarked on a business opportunity which included the need for a work space. My beloved parking spot has now become a workshop. Again I found that my hair style was sacrificed as I dodged raindrops or scraped snow and ice off of the frozen windshield. I suffered in silence all in the name of entrepreneurship. I figured all hope of my ever getting back in there was gone. But to my surprise my sacrifice had not gone unnoticed. About a week ago my husband called me into the garage, “I was thinking that if I moved the bike to the shed for the winter, got rid of one table and turned the other one, that we could fit your car in the garage this winter.” My hero!  I have never worked so hard helping him clean, but by the end of the day we were returning my car to its precious spot in the garage.  I guess Tom Petty was right when he sang that the waiting is the hardest part.

Published November, 2011