Simple Math

I never drank coffee until I met him.

Jim is a coffee fanatic. He drinks coffee all day, every day, hot or cold. And although I do not have the same kind of habit, I do enjoy two big mugs of coffee every morning. Hot, with a little cream.

I love that Jim makes the coffee. I love that we used to have a routine when we were both working full time -- he would get up and prep our coffee, bring it to me in bed, where we would lie side-by-side reading the newspaper and listening to morning radio. This was many years ago. The routines are a bit different now.

Jim cleans the coffee pot. He makes sure we always have enough on hand, and orders speciality coffees just to add a different flavor. Not like vanilla or hazelnut. Just different kinds of roasts. It's just enough to make it interesting.

Then there was that Sunday in January, the day of his stroke. When I came home after dark that evening,  I realized I would have to make the coffee. He had given me instructions before I left his hospital room. I remember how different everything in the house looked, since he wasn't there to measure out the grounds and fill the pot to the absolute top because, Lord knows, you need a LOT of coffee!

It was weird to do this on my own. It just didn't feel right.

It's simple math.

Jim + coffee = HOME.

Drinking coffee and eating beignet at Cafe Du Monde, New Orleans 2014