Requiem For My Coffee Pot

She lived a useful life

Photo by Anshu A on Unsplash

Today I would like to honor and remember my coffee pot, falsely named Mr. Coffee. She was generous and dependable in her life. My coffee pot was seldom used. It sat quietly in my cabinet, with my other appliances, until I had company. My husband, most mornings, would cross the street and buy a cup of coffee and newspaper from the convenience store. Of course, the coffee pot did not know this, I would not hurt her feelings.

I was satisfied to purchase my coffee in restaurants and out socializing. I am not embarrassed to say that we purchased the coffee maker on December 15, 2016. When Covid became an issue I knew many of the people shopping in this convenience store were not wearing masks, and probably would not take Covid vaccines. I asked my husband to stop going there. I had my newspapers delivered and I took out the “Old Girl” and started perking coffee.

I tried out different blends, but I prefer Yuban or Folgers, old brands. I buy coffee online and in supermarkets. You can buy Dunkin Donuts, or Starbucks to brew as well. So each day she made us pots of coffee, she never complained, happy to be used.

The last few weeks I noticed she had slowed down. There was a little leaking. The start button needed some encouragement. I cleaned and bought filters she liked. This morning sadly the end had come. I pressed the start button and she never started, she just made a pitiful noise. A death wail of sorts. I looked up Mr. Coffee on the computer and they had some suggestions, for medical aid, but none really applied.

I sadly broke the news to my husband. I ordered another Mr. Coffee machine it is coming tomorrow. My friends wanted to know why I did not order a fancier or different machine. The truth is I instructed my husband how to make a pot of coffee, why ask him to change? Goodbye dear one, I will miss your warmth, your smell, and how you felt warm in my mugs when I needed you most. Good-bye. You served us well. Judy

A.I..Generator Perchance BY Judy Cohen