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The Coffee was Hot

     Bet it’s happened to you. Just sat down with a steaming mug of coffee. . . 

     I settled into my favorite chair with my book and a fresh cup of coffee, inhaling the aroma of the medium roast blend, ready for a relaxing evening. Okay, maybe you never drink coffee in the evenings but it could have been morning—same difference.

     The coffee waits patiently as I open my book—which actually is a Kindle—curl my feet up under me, and read a few pages while the coffee cools from burning to hot enough to drink. As I reach for the cup, I notice son Paul’s gone from where he was sitting a minute ago and Christy’s walking back to the couch.

     “Paul’s in his room, getting ready to go to bed. He’s waiting for you to help him get in bed,” she explains. After his neck surgery, Paul still needs help getting around so the coffee waits while I go to help him.

     Five minutes later I come back, curl up in my comfy chair and pick up my Kindle. Before I can swipe the Kindle to “on,” my cell chimes. The display shows it’s Bryan—oldest son. Several days a week at about this time, he calls as he’s driving home from work and yes, he uses his Bluetooth, so no criminal acts involved.

     I glance at my coffee. It isn’t steaming any more, but I figure it should still be fairly hot in its thick, royal blue Punxsutawney Phil mug. Just to be sure, I set a couple of napkins across the top of the mug and hope for the best.

     Bryan has lots of news and of course, I have some for him. As we trade stories, I occasionally look longingly at my coffee, but sons are more important. I turn my attention back to the conversation. When I finally hang up—or whatever you call it when you end the call on a cell phone, more like pressing “End,” I guess—I take the napkins off the top of the coffee mug, pick up my Kindle, open it to my last page and reach for my coffee.  Hmmm, a little warm but not too bad. . .

     Knock! Knock! Who’s that? At seven in the evening, it can only be my other son, Craig. Always good to see him; he’s a busy person. I hope he’ll do more than pop in and pop out like he often does. I stick the napkins back across the top of the mug, knowing it’s not going to do much good. Craig settles into the other comfy chair, chats with Christy and me for a nice long time, then leaves to crash at home after a long day at work.

     Okay. Coffee time. It’s still there, waiting patiently. I remove the napkins, take a sip. It does not welcome me warmly. It’s cold. Like I said, I bet that’s happened to you, too.

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