Howard Carter discovers Mr. Coffee

Mr. Coffee bit the dust today. It's heating component just gave up after what the obituary writers would call a long battle with caffeine. The deterioration was almost imperceptible at first. I figured it had something to do with my hot flashes that the coffee never seemed piping.

I don't build personal relationships with small appliances, nor do I consider them a relic to be preserved. I rarely save their receipts or read their instructions. When they are done for, I throw them in the dumpster without a eulogy, and get a replacement at Walmart.

This was not the way I was raised, and that's okay! Cleaning out my parents' house we found four coffee makers packed in their original boxes with receipts and instructions. Taped on the boxes were notes that said, "broken". Why were my parents saving broken appliances?

Tut, tut. What would the ancient Egyptians do with boxed broken Mr. Coffees? Would they put one at each corner of the sarcophagus along with a shabti servant statue to brew the coffee for waking up in the afterlife? Maybe those tomb inscriptions covering the walls in horror vacui style contain the receipts and instructions for the tomb contents. Down at the bottom there's the legal fine print reminding the deceased that coffee is hot.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Dreaming of his dad

Sometime after 4:30 a.m. Howie dreamt he was taking his dad to McDonald's for a filet-o-fish sandwich, a small chocolate milkshake, and maybe some fries. It had been so many years since Adolf appeared in a dream. It got Dad's full attention.

His dad, he commented, had strong opinions about teachers, especially music teachers. No common sense. Completely impractical.

His dad played marbles with him just that once. The day in memory's neon red letters--that one evening outshining everything. Adolf outside in the dust after sunset, shooting marbles with Howard this one time. The dust. Just.

1935. Adolf died when Dad was twelve. Late getting to glee club practice because his father died. The music teacher unsympathetic at this excuse.

They used to walk on down together. Downtown on Saturday night. All the farmers and the townspeople eventually gathering around Anderson's Ford Garage to exchange thoughts about the crops, the prices. Howard with Adolf. Walking the three blocks downtown. The crops and the dust.

Dust and marbles and common sense. We went on over to McDonald's for a filet-o-fish sandwich and a small shake. What did his dad order in the dream? They never got to McDonald's, Dad says.