noting but a houndstooth
In my memory, I don’t know which came first, the smoke billowing up from a white ceramic ware of coffee or the Maxwell House jingle “the best part of waking up…is Folgers in your cup.’
Both seem to be part of my first memories of coffee. I’ve been digging deeper. I think my father making Folgers’ coffee predates this, but I haven’t found the visual yet that supersedes the jingle. Music is powerful, isn’t it?
The memory of the smell from my Father making Folgers, is a strong one, as strong as my mother telling me that breakfast was the most important meal of the day and packing my lunch in my lunch pail. I want to believe that my first memory about coffee isn’t the great white smoke from a commercial and that it comes from some light filled morning in an apartment with vertical kitchen in the now historic Adams district of L.A. where we lived until I was six. Funny, now this boulevard has specialty coffee and pizza together, and just a mile down the road there’s three coffee shops in walking distance of one another – where pressure hitting airwaves will deliver more than smoke and mirrors.
But, its okay. It’s okay that my memory involves, the moving image of ‘the tube’, music and my father. I like things complex and layered just like this single pour over of black in a cooling ware of white. You see, here I am, not even having sipped this coffee and it’s already having an effect on me. It is already taking me to a place, a place in time, with ideas and people-a jingle and my father. This is why I love coffee, this is why I love it’s culture.
My dad still makes Folgers… the rest of this journal entry is via my newsletter ‘Inspiration is a Seesaw.’ Subscribe to it here for the end of the story, monthly giveaways, inspiration, my random but collected thoughts minus spam. Thanks loves!