Healer, Laugh at Thyself

[ghaelen]

I woke up this morning to the sound of the garbage truck making its way around the neighborhood.  That meant it would be rounding the block and arriving at our driveway in about 5 minutes.  I thought briefly about just letting them pass by this week, then remembered the smell last night as I had added the latest trash bag.  Being olfactor-ily motivated, I decided to investigate whether my husband had thought about the trash.  I listened for a moment (the sound of trash can wheels on pavement would indicate he had heard the truck, too).  Nothing.  I squeaked down the old wood steps to the kitchen to ask him if he wouldn't mind taking it out since he probably had his shoes on by now.  To my dismay, I discovered he had fallen back asleep on the sofa.  Rats.

"Let it go," I told myself.  Of course I didn't. Groggy and disheveled, I squeaked back up the stairs to don trousers and a large shirt.  Gosh, not even a cup of coffee yet.  I did manage to fluff my already wild curly hair so that it looked nearly normal.  Then I trudged outside to move the trash can. Just in time.

When I came back in there was a fresh pot of coffee brewing.  My sad situation brightened a by the smell of the brew.... I knew it wasn't finished, but I could hope.

Our coffee maker is one that pipes the hot water through one basket into a lower one that sits on a warming plate.  Nice and big, with a cup dispenser at the front.  It also used to have a window in the front so we could tell when the lower basket was full.  It had very early on become coffee-stained so we couldn't see through it.  Neither was the coffeepot gurgling loudly in the way it does when the water basket is nearly empty.  I suspected I would have to wait the ten minutes for it to finish (I hadn't cleaned the water pump for a while because I'd been rather busy, so it took longer.)  Rats again.

Of course, I had learned that if the lower basket was hot there was enough coffee brewed that I could at least get started with my waking-up ritual.  I couldn't fill up my mondo cup, but I could at least put and inch or so of coffee in it, go up to the study, sit in my chair, and not-think.  I placed my hand on the lower basket.  Not very warm yet.  I looked out the kitchen window at the lawn that would soon need to be mowed again and tried to only contemplate things that didn't cause stress.  That wasn't much.  I became aware of my husband behind me, and turned to say good morning.  He was looking at the coffeepot, then smiled tiredly at me.

"Honey," he said, "Healing hands are not going to make the pot brew faster.  You'll actually have to clean it."