In Seattle people take their coffee seriously. They know the difference between good coffee and bad, and avoid the bad. Coffee is a like a family pet, accepted and known for its own personality. Coffee is embraced in Seattle the way wine is in Bordeaux or oil in Houston.
Not so in Michigan. Here they have other totems. Coffee isn't culture here. It isn't identity. It's just coffee. Everyone drinks it, and no one cares.
Yet I care. Even though my home sits in the middle of Michigan, I think of it as sovereign Seattle territory, like an embassy, or better yet a beacon. My home lets Michigan in, and it also projects Seattle out.
The other day Kathy's brother Butch came to visit. He had stopped at Dunkin' Donuts for coffee on the way to our place. I first saw the sugar-frosted Styrofoam cup as he walked in the door, holding it at arm's length while he kicked off his shoes.
"What's
that?" I asked, knowing perfectly well what it was.
"What?"
My eyes rolled. "What are you holding there, in your hand?"
"A doorknob?" he asked.
"The
other hand," I said.
"Oh. It's coffee."
"Dunkin' Donuts?"
"Yeah."
"
DUN-kin'
DO-nuts!"
"Yeah, Bro. It's good. You want some?" He held out the cup to me.
I held up my hands, palms out. "No thank you." Then I turned my head back, hands still raised. "Kathy? Do we have some of our coffee left for Mr. Butch over here?"
She said, "Yes, unless you drank it all."
"That's okay," Butch said. "I'm good." I could see through the Styrofoam that the cup was almost full.
"Kathy, would you help him please?" I said, waving Kathy around. "Butch?"
Butch didn't hear me. He had torn open the perforated hole in the plastic lid and was drinking.
"Butch!"
"Yeah?"
"Kathy is going to get you some of our coffee. I want you to drink it, okay?"
"All right. Whatever."
Kathy walked Butch over to the counter. She pulled down the cream and sugar and a porcelain cup, and showed him the coffee carafe filled with Starbucks House Blend that had been brewed less than an hour earlier.
Butch mixed it the way he liked it and took a drink. He jerked his head back and shook it. "This is strong!"
"Yeah, sure is," I said. "Good, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Go ahead. Drink some more."
I made the old coffee disappear while Kathy invited Butch to come drink his fresh coffee out on the porch. He drank carefully at first, then with unforced enjoyment.
He was content, and so was I. Family, good coffee, summer morning sunlight. It was a small thing, but it's moments like these when you think you can make a difference in the world.
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