Welcome to the 21st Century, he says . . .

   . . . this nearly-ready-for-Social-Security second son of mine, after I phone-describe the new, larger (handicapped, the plumber called it) toilet. No handle: just a circle on the lid split into “1” and “2” sections to push when flushing. Even my son hadn’t seen one that advanced!

        So, since the siblings were coming for lunch on Sunday, I scrubbed the tile floors before replacing the rugs, took off the lower shelf of the tall metal rack over the “throne,” and moved the towels up one shelf. On one side of the lid, I placed the plant-in-a-pear-motif-ed vase over a tiny circle of embroidery done by others. On the other side of the flusher circle, I placed the squat, square-glass dish full of Florida shells, on top of a multi-colored five-sided doily. Already for company, including four others who, as I did, grew up in this house. Can’t wait to hear their comments.

                The 500-piece jigsaw puzzle is finally finished. As of last Wednesday night, at 10:59, I put the last of 33 pieces left when I began at that sitting. Whew! Now, it’s elevated at an angle as supposed to be and ready to show my siblings when they come Sunday after church. I also took a flip-phone photo to the other son who gifted me with the items. He said it was blurry, but he could tell I’d finished it.

                For a week or so, the puzzle replaced my reading time, but now I’m back. Mitt Romney’s biography by McKay Coppins is my current book. After that, I’ll begin on Kai Bird’s “The Outlier:  The Unfinished Presidency of Jimmy Carter.” A grandson gifted me with this book at Christmas, bless ‘im.

                The siblings lunch went well. Guy brought a fruit and cheese-crackers appetizer served from the front room coffee table. After singing (our custom) the Wesley Grace, we ate pizza, hash-brown-potato casserole, a green salad, deviled eggs and peanut butter pie.             Afterwards, we gathered in the living room and visited until mid-afternoon. Two of the sisters, both of Little Rock, had dogs to get back to and naps to take. The rain had ended by then, thank goodness.

                Afterwards, AM and I cleaned up the kitchen, loaded and started the dishwasher, then retired to our napping places.

                An hour-and-a-half later, after a sleepless but restful spell, I arose, went into the kitchen for coffee, and noticed the dishwasher light was still blue, meaning it was still washing. No way! It should be showing a white light meaning finished. I opened the door to find the soap dispenser was not released, but there were suds in the bottom of the machine. Hmm. I started pushing the buttons as I usually do, and the light stuck on “sensor.” Nothing could happen until it gave me the strength and length of the cycle. Finally, finally, the sensor moved on to my selection; the washer began and worked perfectly. 

                All’s well that ends well, right?

Confluence of Handles, part 2

     After entering the kitchen, still in my robe and yawning for the umpteenth time, I switch on the overhead light, the warmer light, and the Keurig power button.

      Raising the lid of the pod holder and the lid of the water well, I hand-dig around in the basket until grasping a light-roast Breakfast Blend pod. I pull it out, insert it in the round hole and lower the handle, which pokes holes for the brewing to happen.

        Now for water to replenish the tank. I pull the pitcher through the confluence of handles and stop. I always smile at the unusual scene––brown, pink, and green, one facing in, one facing out, and the brown one facing me in the center. Once, I took a photo of the three handles—a still life, it you will.

                You wonder why I detail this image that’s important enough to use as the title? Perhaps it’s the artist part of my creativity; the flower-arranging skill I learned from being in the garden club, or the formality of a musical chord, a triad of sorts.

                I fill the pitcher from the tap at the sinks, pour the water into the narrow-ish aperture of the well-cum-tank, scoot the pitcher back to its nest and replace the lid of the well.

         Ready to brew! When the pod lid is down, three blue lights come on: Small, medium and large mugs show under those lights. I press the “large” button. The machine roars on, and while the coffee drips, I reach for the teaspoon and three packets of sweetener. After I thump the contents to the bottoms of the packets, I access the scissors, snip off the tops, pour them into the teapot.

                As the cycle finishes, I grasp the FRIENDS mug handle, turn it around, and with my left hand, pour the dark liquid into the pot. I replace the mug, stir the sweetener into the coffee, replacing the spoon and the teapot lid.   

                But this isn’t all. No, the coffee’s still too strong for my taste so I raise and lower the pod lid and the lights return. Again, I press “large.” This time while the cup is filling, I might water the windowsill plants, load, or unload the dishwasher. Or grab a parched peanut or two from the pan on the stove.

             When the Keurig becomes silent, return to the counter, lift the teapot lid, then the catch-mug, pour the second offering into the teapot, replace the lid and the mug. Repeat this step, but this time, press “medium.” While this last cycle brews, I check the cat food and water, refilling if necessary.

           With the third and final offering from the tiny pod of coffee, press the power button off, add the pale fluid to the pot, replace the lid.

          I select a mug to use all morning, perhaps one of Mom’s, perhaps one from Florida or a glass one, and pour the hot, sweet stuff into it. Ah! Perfect! I move to the table and continue my day with the morning paper.

                What could be more satisfying? Fresh brews and fresh news. And it added only one plastic pod to a landfill instead of three.

 c 2024, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

CONFLUENCE OF HANDLES - part 1

 

 

How to make enough coffee for your entire morning without adding much to the landfill:

Are there still some folks who have the old-fashioned Mr. Coffee that brews up to twelve cups of the black liquid pick-me-up each morning? Twelve cups? Perhaps in the even-older-fashioned days and styles of china cups, yes. But don’t all modern brides and bridegrooms and college students and young adults drink from pottery or glass mugs? Or even Yetis or insulated school-or-business-logoed flasks?

                After a daughter’s marriage, she found herself with an extra coffeemaker that she offered. “Thank you kindly,” I said, and studied up on its requirements.

                The next Christmas, my children presented me with a Keurig brewer, that of the plastic pods of pre-measured grounds. The previous Mr. Coffee was relegated to the farthest recesses of the corner kitchen cabinet, joining a bun warmer, a double boiler and a Bundt cake pan. May they all rest there until my heirs get them. 

                Ah, the Keurig machine! Now to find the perfect spot. It must accommodate my left-handedness. I surveyed the countertop to the left of the sink for a space about the size of an old-fashioned electric mixer with a bowl. A light switch paired with two electrical plug-ins was handy. In the corner where two walls converge was a cup (or mug) carousel. Voila! Just enough room in front of it for the new, modern, sleek Keurig.

                In the cupboard above, an Old-Fashioned glass (sometimes called a lowball or rocks glass) held single packets of instant lemonade, peach tea, and root beer. A box of one-hundred packets of saccharin-based sweetener was also in reach. On the side wall, a pottery pocket-piece held scissors.

                At the back of the counter convenient to the outlets, I placed a brown wicker basket to hold the coffee pods—light-roast Breakfast Blend, Hazelnut, and when available, Pumpkin Spice. On the right side of the basket, I snugged in a spoon holder with two indentions, one for a handful of sweetener packets, the other for a long teaspoon. Between the cup carousel and the basket was room for a medium-sized, ironstone pitcher that would hold enough water to fill the well of the machine. I could pull the pitcher by the handle slowly through the confluence of handles made by that of the tall mug on the Keurig base and the handle of the teapot sitting on a resurrected, electric cup warmer. Why a teapot, you ask? I’ll answer later.

                Speaking of the tall mug that catches the coffee, I use a favorite one: pink, with a fat, red heart added to the middle of the handle. When not in use, I turn it to see the message:

                “FRIENDS/ are like bras: supportive, never leave you hanging, make you look good, and are always close to your heart.”

                To make enough coffee for the morning, I’ll need a large vessel to hold multiple runs through the Keurig. Hmm. Oh! How about that pear-motif-ed teapot that grandson Billy spied at the local pharmacy? He brought it over and offered it since I collect pear-paraphernalia? The base set perfectly on the warmer and the green ceramic handle faced toward the machine for a hefty, lefty grasp.

                To make the “coffee center” more attractive, handy, and easy-to-clean, I folded a kitchen towel into fourths, the long side against the warmer to catch any drips from the pot to the mug.

                I’ve described the setting, now, here are the steps to making coffee that will last all morning, but not (eventually) add much to any landfill.

To be continued.

c 2024, Pat Laster dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA