Life, Love, Long Hair, Weeping and Gnashing of Teeth, and other mysteries

All this and more, from a semi-Serbian, slightly sane, former editor for physicians and surgeons, who is the mother of seven kids.


Tuesday, 31 January 2012

Hot Beverages - No Shugga Tonight!


As I poured myself a cup from the pot of coffee my 17-year-old daughter brewed, I thought of how nice it is that she makes coffee.

Then I thought of how my 19-year-old daughter used to set out two mugs before bed - one for me and one for herself - each with a green-tea bag leaning up against it, ready for the morning, back before she grew up and moved out on her own.

And then I remembered how my 14-year-old daughter used to be "the Krakus maker" when she was little.  I'd be working on something homeschooly in the living room with her older two sisters, and she'd call from the kitchen, "Who wants Krakus?" And she'd make a tea-pot full of it for us all.



Hot beverages.  They warm more than your mouth.  They warm your heart.

That sounds corny!

Reminds me of the adage about firewood warming you twice.  I do know that to be true, having split many a log round in my day.  A splitting maul and sledge-hammer were a couple of my buddies back in the wilderness of Alaska.

Hmm... Maybe I'll blog about my Alaska days sometime.


Thinking further back, I remember when my mom left my dad, when I was in my late teens.  The biggest hole in my life with her being gone was that I missed drinking coffee with her in the mornings before I went to work.

Further back still, I recall how my dad used to make me hot tea with whiskey or wine in it whenever I got sick.  Not a huge amount, mind you.  About a cap-full (which, being whiskey, could taste pretty darn strong) in a cup of Red Rose tea, mixed with honey.

He did that as far back as I can remember.  I always assumed it was a Serbian thing he carried over from "de old country".

More than the temporary sleepiness or physical healing brought by the medicinal beverages, though, I still carry the indelible love benefits of the memory, feeling my dad's long-ago concern for me.

And best of all, for me, was when my dad came home from work, he'd often say, "Who wants the speck?"

"The speck" was the last few drops of lukewarm coffee with sugar and milk in my dad's construction-site-worn thermos.

The tradition of "the speck" continues as all my kids have gotten specks from me.

But really, it's the little things... ya know?


2 comments:

  1. Love it Steenie :) You have a way with words!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you, my "blue04neon" beanie baby!

    ReplyDelete

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