Evocative Addiction

When I was 14 years old, I suffered from some really annoying environmental allergies. My hometown is heavily agricultural, and there was no end to the allergens floating about in the summer. I tried the various over the counter concoctions, but they either made me drowsy or made my heart pound like a jackhammer. I got a steroidal allergy shot, which helped but was pricey. My parents weren't able to afford too many of those, so the family doc recommended that I try having a cup of coffee in the mornings, as caffeine works as an antihistamine.

Coffee did seem to help a bit, and I found that I REALLY enjoyed it. Not just the buzz, mind you, but the smell and the flavor and the...well, everything.

This was well before the "coffee revolution", and my dad was strictly a Folger's man. It was all I knew.

When I left for college, I had a friend who was a bit more worldly. He introduced me to good, whole bean coffees and I was hooked immediately. I found that I preferred a nice, dark French roast to any other, and that has been my bean of choice since then.

I once read somewhere that smells can evoke more memories than any of the other senses. True or no, every time I open the canister to put more beans in the burr grinder, I remember what that first bag of French roast beans smelled like when I opened it in my dorm room. I remember cold mornings in the little trailer house. I remember leaving for the hospital from the little house on Beech street as well as the the house on Hayes street and the house on Raton well before the sun came up. I remember nine years of mornings staring out that window into the backyard, waiting for the grinder to finish so I can brew that first pot. Powerful little things, those beans.
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So, yeah, I haven't posted much lately. For one, I've been monumentally busy for the last couple of months, both at work and shuttling kids to and from various events. This morning, I felt like typing, so I'll just throw out a couple of posts. Two-fer Wednesday, or something.