Mother drank 32 cups of coffee a day. She
drank it in the morning, at lunch, at work all afternoon, at dinner,
and at night before bed. Maxwell House Instant. That was her secret.
Some of us need our comforts to lean on, to munch, to spend on, and
to sip.
Christmas at her house was like sitting in front of the tree at Bank
of America; presents flooding out to all four corners of the room
— 10, 15, 20 gifts apiece; fun gifts like
talking yo yo’s, practical gifts like shirts and socks, special
gifts like go carts, mini bikes, or cash.
Gifts that went back to her spare lean years, presents that covered
the empty floors and bare trees of Christmases growing up in Hatch.
Presents whose bills would be hidden in her top drawer and would
take all year to pay, maybe more . . .
This morning I sip my 3rd small cup of Taylor-made organic roast
espresso, remembering her smile as the one present I’ve always
kept, the one whose bill will never come due, the one that will
never wear out or break or have to be exchanged . . .
The one I lean on now in my own leaning years.
© 2008 Guy Biederman
Go to top
