This morning at the beach house we made a very gruesome discovery. One that was detrimental to my well being and would be the cause of possible near hysteria and mayhem. How I would survive this crisis was of utmost concern. What, you ask, could be the cause of such impending disaster?
We were out of coffee. Yep. Not good. It was pointless at this time to point any fingers at anyone and I needed to conserve my energy. (RANDY!) Through my foggy haze I managed to pack up and load up and beseeched-okay screamed-to Randy to step on it to the nearest coffee dispensary. Remember, we are 'up north' where the caffeine options are sometimes few and far between. We calculated that the emergency would pass once we drove the 16 miles into town. As we sped into the bakery and slammed the truck in park, we noticed that the neon did not say 'open.' After a little bit of hyperventilating I accepted the fact that racing another 12 miles would be necessary to get a cup of Joe. Finally, we pulled up to a tiny bakery/party store/resale establishment. The man behind the counter was appropriately dressed in a dirty wife beater but could have been in body paint for all I cared. We gave him our order and he grunted the amount we owed him. Randy paid the man while I burned the roof of my mouth and my tongue on my coffee. Can't say it was the best coffee I ever had, but man, it did the trick.
Later in the day as I drove thru Tim Hortons for a large can of coffee, I thought how the whole debacle reminded me of my favorite coffee haunt in the Keys. The adorable Cuban couple can barely speak English as they cheerfully greet us. Everything on the menu is made to order including the best breakfast tamales this side of Havana. And the coffee...Well you can only imagine.
From northern Michigan to southern Florida from a grunt to a smile, I am happy to have my coffee needs met.
Have a wonderful week and as corny as it is; remember to stop and smell (and drink!) the coffee.