The Aroma of Love

Waking up to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee every morning at home, I would walk sleepily to the kitchen where Mom would be sitting at the table drinking her coffee. Her hair would be all messy and she would be dressed in pajamas and robe, reading the paper while she sipped the black brew. She was security, comfort, and love. I knew that when I returned from school she would still be there.

Coffee didn't become my drink until college. Sitting in the lounge with friends, drinking coffee and talking was a daily habit and pleasure. Doing my art work, it seemed that a cup of coffee and a cigarette was a necessary stimulation to get the creative juices going. I gave up the cigarettes long ago but the coffee stayed.

So many memories go with coffee. One of my favorites was going out late at night with my soon-to-be husband for coffee and oatmeal pancakes. He taught me to drink it with cream and sugar, lots of sugar. But it all started with my mom.

Rococo
Picture from www.princetonol.com