Magic time.... and a cup of Eight O'clock coffee

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It's one of those wonderful days...

The air outside is crisp, but not bitter. The fire inside is warm, and easily knocks back the chill. Put together, and it means I can open the windows to the morning breeze while still comfortably lounging with my cupa and a book.

This mornings coffee mug is filled with memories, as much as the strong black brew. It's Eight O'clock coffee, fresh ground yesterday at the store. Found at a local country market, with large foil bags of coffee beans stacked next to the grinder. An old style machine, with a big 'grind' selector dial on the front alongside a simple on/off switch. No laser guided brew pot determinator with safety first instant off brakes and a three kiloton scatter shield, but simply a hulking brute of a grinder like my parents saw each week at the market.

The memories? I vividly shopping days with my Mom, usually at the A+P market. One of the many treats was the weekly bag of coffee. There in the aisles stood the same machine I used yesterday, with the same red stack of bagged up roasted beans.

She would usually let me smell the beans before pouring them into the grinder, and maybe have one to chew on. The smell that filled the aisle as the roasted coffee beans were ground... that smell was like magic to the soul. It spoke of chilly mornings, just like this one, and breakfast on the table. The smell paints an image of Mom and Dad getting ready for the day, with begrudging grunts and wisps of a smile.

Smells can be powerful reminders... and the rich scent of fresh brewed strong coffee triggers a lot of memories for me. Good ones.... valuable ones... comforting ones. In a world that can be cold as ice to a caring soul, warm memories such as these keep the heart from setting hard.