The Passing of a Mean Machine

CRITICAL UPDATE: It is 8:45 the next morning and my man has saved the day! Yes, I said “Saved the day!” He said he spent most of the night tossing and turning about how he could out-smart my coffee machine and get it to work…at least a few more days. Up the man popped this morning and flew to the cabinet where he found his oversized toothpicks. (They look like something Gulliver would have used to get the pot roast from last week dislodged from between his teeth.) Keith stuck the toothpick into the steamer in hopes that it would plug it up, make it stop blowing steam, and signal the other part of the machine to work. AND IT DID!!! IT DID!!!!!!!! Even after I’d humbly prepared 8 cups in my new pot! (I’d decided to be more mature and thankful this morning. Usually a night does the trick on my petty attitude especially if I think God is getting annoyed.) Please see brilliant demonstration below. Give special attention to the toothpick in the steamer. It’s leaking a tad so next we will be wrapping a little duct tape around it. Thank you for caring, Siestas! I just knew you would. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, I have recorded the drama below the updated picture.

The original post. A night that will live in infamy:

Seven years ago this Christmas, my man surprised me with one of the most extravagant gifts of our entire marriage. This Jura Capresso Coffee Maker from Williams Sonoma:

If he’s having an on year, he tends to splurge at Christmas time because of the inordinate amount of time he spends at the deer lease from early November to late January. These spurgings are his way of saying, “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long, please don’t divorce me before deer season ends, and can I go one more time for just a few more weeks? I promise I’ll be the happiest husband you’ve ever had when I get home.” The year of this particular gift he stayed in my good graces all the way till the first of February (when I’ve ordinarily ceased speaking to him) because I’d never fallen more in love with an inanimate object in all my life. This, my dear Siestas, has been my best friend for 7 beautiful years. She makes the perfect cup of coffee every single time. Perfect aroma. Perfect weight. Perfect crema. Here she is with my very favorite cup and saucer:

Today she passed. Just like that. She passed. There I was in my jammies on an exquisite Saturday morning at home with Autumn leaves blowing from the trees and birds singing and circling my feeders. I was chomping at the bit to sit on the back porch with that first cup of the morning and take it all in. And for the first time in seven glorious years, she just couldn’t deliver. All she could do was sit there and blow steam. Literally. I nearly went into a state of shock. Keith threw on his jeans as fast as he could, grabbed the keys to his Ford Super Duty, and guided me to the truck still in my jammies. You know where we went. Where else could we possibly go?? Of course, we did the drive thru. My knees were too weak to walk in.

I survived the morning on a grande nonfat dry cappuccino and pulled myself together to spend a great day at the Nutcracker Market with Amanda. Since there was also a Starbucks there on the premises, I had all a soul could stand and didn’t think about my morning mishap until I got home that evening. You know how a mind tries to block out the unthinkable. Keith had also promised me we’d pack up the coffee maker and send it off to be repaired and I’d found considerable comfort in it. A brief separation. That’s all.

When I walked in the door this evening, all the sudden the realization hit me.

“Oh, no!”

Keith: “What, Honey? Oh, no, what?”

“My coffee maker!”

Keith: “You didn’t remember to get us a back up?”


Keith: “Bummer. It could be a rough morning.”

Mind you, it was late by now. I grabbed my keys and ran back to the car and headed to our only nearby store – a Walgreen’s – to find a Black and Decker or Mr. Coffee or SOMETHING to tie us over until we could find something more suitable to tie us over in the long run. Maybe I’d have my best friend back by Christmas. I looked all over the drugstore. My pulse sped up. I scurried to check out and asked in the nicest but fastest way if I could have some assistance.

“My coffee maker passed and I need something for the next few days until we can find a better back up. I can’t find a coffee pot anywhere in the store! Do you guys have one?”

Sales clerk: “Absolutely! Let me help you find it.”

So relieved. But that word “it” bothered me a tad. Surely she didn’t mean “it” as in “one.”

Yep. That’s what she meant, all right. Here it is:

I nearly had to be helped to the car. Sometimes we have to make hard choices. Other times we just don’t have any choice at all. This is what I’ll be drinking my coffee out of in the morning.

Not even a Mr. Danged Coffee!! Who ever heard of this brand? Oh, I know! I know! It has no eternal significance. It’s totally trivial and pitifully temporal but I’ve been waking up to fresh grinding beans for seven solid years and many of those mornings I’ve taken that first hot sip and said out loud, “Thank You, God.” And maybe I’m making something up but I’ve wanted to believe He was up there saying, “You’re welcome.” Do you remember about a month ago when I told you guys I’d given up something for over a month? My eyes nearly bugged out of my head when I saw so many of you suggest that I’d given up coffee. Do you honestly think I would have waited a month before telling you that? Seriously? I would have called for an emergency support group.

OK, I’ll go get a grip. In no time at all, our old girl will be repaired and we’ll be back in business. Until then, mornings could be tender around the Moore home.


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