For many years, my beau & I would travel to his mother's house on Christmas Eve. She loved to have her babies home for Christmas morning, even if those babies were pushing 50.
On Christmas morning, it was a little like being a kid again, but we were old enough to slow it down a bit. Savor the coffee, the gifts, the time together. No one enjoyed it more and wanted it to last longer than Anne.
After the last present was unwrapped and the stockings were emptied, we would make our way to the kitchen and Anne would prepare Christmas brunch. Anne was the queen of her kitchen, and while she might dole out a chore here or there, the process was in her command. I suspect she moved slowly, not so much due to her age, but more as a ploy to keep her children with her for a few minutes more. Brunch often took place well after 1pm.
Now I've been known to skip breakfast, so I could never figure out why I always got the shakes on Christmas. Maybe 1pm was pushing it too far? Maybe this was a sign that I had diabetes? Maybe my biorhythms were off because of waking up in a strange place? Maybe I was the Grinch and all this cheer was too much for my tiny heart? But it never failed, I would have to grab something out of the fridge to settle my nerves, to keep my hands from shaking every Christmas.
I love to sleep, so I was often the last to greet Christmas morning. I would grab a cup of coffee and join the others in the den. One morning, I slept even later than normal and there was no coffee when I got up. I announced "I'm going to make another pot of coffee and I'll be right there!"
Anne said "I'll come help you!" I thought to myself "I'm 40 years old, I'm pretty sure I can make a pot of coffee." But my Mama didn't raise me to be ugly to sweet, well-meaning old ladies so I chose to reign that in.
As if she was reading my mind, she said "This fancy coffee pot can be a little difficult."
"First you pour the tap water into the filter pitcher. Oh good, we already have some filtered."
Oh good.
"Then you pour 12 cups of water into the reservoir."
Good. I was still with her. We hadn't entered rocket science coffee-making yet.
"Then you measure out 12 big scoops of coffee..."
Wait. 12 scoops? TWELVE scoops???
I have made coffee almost every day of my life for the last 20 years. It goes like this: water in the reservoir, 4 big scoops of coffee, 5 if I need a little jolt, turn the thing on. Done.
4 scoops. Maybe 5. Not TWELVE.
No wonder I get the shakes every Christmas. I always knew that her coffee was a bit stronger than mine... I think I'm having my usual 3 cups of coffee, but I'm REALLY having 12 cups and maybe a shot of espresso.
For the years that followed, I simply, quietly poured half a cup of milk in my coffee on Christmas morning and smiled.
Anne is gone now. I miss her. I miss how much joy she got from watching middle-aged kids open Christmas presents. I don't miss her coffee much, but in her honor I believe that on this Christmas morning, and every Christmas morning to follow, I will prepare the 1st pot of coffee with 12 scoops.
