It's the last Monday of the month, and that usually means it's time for a Rainy Day story, but I decided to tell a Daddy story instead.
My Daddy used to tell stories. I'm sure they were all true, because he would never lie to his children—or his friends. Would he?
At some time, I became friendly with his secretary, and ended up having a sleepover at her home one weekend. We sat up that night and gossiped and talked girl talk until late, and I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I was awakened the next morning by the wafting perfume of fresh coffee. What a heavenly way to waken!
I hauled myself out of the bed, and stumbled to the kitchen where Secretary stood in front of the stove, lifting an obviously heavy pot of something. I stood and quietly watched as she lifted the pot three times. No easy feat, by the way, as she wasn't a whole lot taller than the stove. I stood at 5'5" and she was several inches shorter than I.
I mumbled something like, "Good morning," she set the pot down, turned and said likewise. She was happy, cheerful, but, then, she had been up and had coffee.
"Secretary," I croaked, "what were you doing?"
"Oh," she beamed, "your Daddy taught me how to make perfect coffee. Here, have a cup." She dipped a dipper into the pot, and "poured" us each a cuppa.
"Huh?" Was the most intelligent thing I could think of to say.
Seems Daddy had told her the best way to make really, really good coffee was to put the grounds and cold water into a pot, bring it to a boil, cook it for X amount of time, and then lift the pot three times to settle the grounds to the bottom. I managed to keep a straight face.
Further seems she'd been making her coffee that way ever since Daddy told her. She was quite proud of her feat. Who was I to dissolution her?
With really, really, really great difficulty, I managed to keep a straight face until I got home and told Daddy how Secretary made coffee. I have to admit, my memory of that coffee is that it was pretty good. But for the life of me, I can't remember if she put the eggshells into the pot or not. And to this day, I wonder if Daddy ever told her he used a Mr. Coffee?