Kathleen (see number 20) kickstarted my morning with a coffee story: I started drinking coffee around when I was 9 or 10 years old, maybe even younger. Early riser, I would make my parents coffee, and bring it to them in bed. I would then make a cup for myself. Half cream, half coffee, I would take the cup, scoot behind the couch where the heater vent was, sit on the floor and sip. Don’t know if they ever knew that part. Above is a bakelite cup from my parent’s picnic set–mfg/d 1953 by the Republic Mold Corp of Chicago, according to the stamp on the bottom. Object behind is my Stanley thermos. Our kitchen floor. Now I didn’t get this quite right. I needed to buy a can of Folger’s and open it with the can opener. I remember how the smell would puff out when the blade broke through the metal. Very modern, we had an electric can opener eventually and an electric percolator. The empty Folger’s can would end up on the counter near the stove, to be filled with bacon drippings.
