In my ideal world, my middle name(s) would be Maxwell House and I would live next door to Juan Valdez.
My life, such as it is, revolves around coffee. It is the first thing I do in the morning. The bulk of the pastoral work I do is in the vicinity of coffee. (“Let’s talk about it over a cup of coffee ...”) The first thing I ask when I check into a hotel is: “What time is the coffee ready?”
When I first saw the Keurig Coffee Maker at a friend’s house last year, my only thought was: Nobel Prize. Remember the monkeys in 2001: A Space Odyssey worshipping the Monolith? I thought: who was this incredible and apparently Swedish person who, with this invention, had made such a remarkable contribution to humankind and to world peace? Well, okay. To me and to my peace of mind in the morning.
I got one for Father’s Day last year.
So, for I year, I’ve been coming downstairs, taking an oh-so-cute little K-Cup (just saying those words makes me feel good), putting it into the Keurig holder, placing a cup on the tray and pushing a button. And voila. Cafe!! Oh lait!!
Pushing a button. How American, you say. How decadent, you say. How lazy, you say.
Well, yesterday morning, I came downstairs, did the little K dance and when I pushed the button, about a teaspoonful of coffee came out. I looked in shocked dismay at the pitiful amount of coffee in the bottom of the cup. I wondered: do Keurigs get prostate problems? (I hadn’t yet had a cup of coffee.)
I left the cup in the tray, and went off to find the manual.
On my way back into the kitchen -- I was gone a couple of minutes -- the Keurig whirled into action and made a cup of coffee.
I won’t go into the entire experiment, but I discovered that the Keurig would make coffee two minutes after I press the button.
I know this casts “instant” into a brand new light, and I did speak to a very nice and apparently non-Swedish customer representative at Keurig who told me that a technician would get back to me.
While I wait, ppppp-atiently, I now have at least a couple of minutes to stare out the window, watch the birds, see the little chipmunk who lives under the deck scurrying about mindlessly, the family of prancing squirrels. I breathe in. I breathe out. I wait. Expecting nothing. I know that my life, too, is like the grass of the yard.
And then, the Keurig comes on. Making a sound which, until yesterday, I hadn’t understood.
The sound it makes: