coffee & Keurigs

It’s 7:40am and I walk to my coffee maker fully expecting to grab the carafe and pour myself a to-go mug before I leave for work. The kitchen is dim and without my glasses or contacts, it’s like a blind mouse trying to find its way. But, something looks different – that much I can tell. There is no coffee in the pot. I had set the coffee maker to brew at a certain time so it would be ready, but it’s empty.

I peered down into the glass (just to make sure, you know) – nothing. I punched the buttons on the coffee maker, willing it to start that familiar gurgling sound before the hot stream of liquid drips through the decanter lid, spreading a warm brown familiarity in the shiny glass. Nothing. You can’t imagine the things that are going through my mind at this point. I throw my hands up and walk away.

Grace Kelly knows the atmosphere in the house is not what it usually is – she’s hiding under the bed. The messed up sheets and comforter hang over one side of the bed – signs of another sleepless night. She hides behind the draping, cuddled in a ball. My bed is low to the ground so I get on my hands and knees and look at her – she scoots further away from me. I don’t know what she thinks she did that she needs to hide or maybe she just doesn’t want to incur the wrath of a coffee deprived dog mom. I wish I spoke “Dog” – that would help me in so many areas. I reach out to her – she backs away. You have got to be kidding me. I reached out further and grabbed her paw and pulled her from out underneath the bed.

With the dog under one arm and a coffee-less free hand, I leave my home. I’m still thinking about the coffee maker. It’s obviously broken. Damaged, in some way. Sure, the lights still light up and it gets warm, but something deep inside it that makes the main functions work is broken. Broken. I hate that word. I don’t want things to be broken. You see, I’m a chronic fixer. I want to fix and repair and redeem and be redeemed.

I’m the girl who has the same car she’s driven for 11 years, the girl who prefers vinyl records over iTunes downloads, the girl who would rather ride the street cruiser bike instead of the high dollar, gear shifting bike, the girl who keeps the stupid momentos, the girl who cried when she had to get rid of her 1970s avocado green refrigerator, the girl who keeps the t-shirts to sleep in from when she was a child, the girl who would rather spend a night on the couch than out, the girl who has carried the same purse for 4 years, the girl who has realized she is the happiest right where she is instead of where she always thought she should be, the girl who isn’t good at goodbyes and keeps her friendships even when life happens and people grow apart. Often times, I feel like a fish swimming upstream. I’m constantly going against the tide.

What’s that have to do with a broken coffee maker (this got way longer than I expected)… well, it’s a coffee maker it’s not life. So, I guess it’s a little more easily replaceable, but somehow that doesn’t make it easier. I’ve had that coffee maker since I moved into my apartment. I don’t want to get rid of it. But, maybe I should. Maybe I should let it go.

I started reading up on the Keurig machines – that seems like something I would like. But, there are so many functions. Lots of buttons. Bells and whistles. It’s fancy. It’s sleek. It’s new. It’s not my coffee maker. I want the sound, the smell, the familiarity… my coffee maker never let me down. Until it did. Until it broke. But, in my mind – it’s not really broken. It’s not beyond hope. I can make my coffee maker work again. It’s not so far gone I don’t have faith it can’t be restored.

It’s just coffee, though… not life.