Friday, October 24, 2003


hope chest

when i was a little girl in kansas, my great-grandmother on the farm had an antique cedar-lined hope chest that had come across with our pioneer ancestors from philadelphia.

of course i don't have it anymore; it was lost to our family when my great-uncle charlie's snooty wife, a doctor's daughter, took it along with the black-iron domed chicken fryer that had also moved along the plains. (note: with these, the older the better. a 125-yr.-old seasoned chicken fryer would have been fantastic.)

the worst part was that, of course, she never fried chicken. it probably ended up decorating her disgusting bourgeois kitchen in maryland horse country.

as for the hope chest, she's the kind who probably would have refinished it and lined it in some kitschy laura ashley fabric. . .

but! the hope chest was suddenly brought to mind this morning as i drank david haddock's counterculture certified organic nicaraguan coffee. roasted to just a drop of oil, this delight possesses surprising body, low brightness (or acidity), aromas of wood-spice and cedar, and a lightly bittersweet, dry aftertaste.

yes, this coffee reminds me of my great-grandmother's hope chest. it's pure proust, the way this coffee tosses me back to childhood, its hopes and disappointments.

unlike proust, however, i cannot yet tell whether i have been lucky or unlucky in these loves.

and here's the yogic moment: why am i passing down this 40-year-old family grudge? what's the point?

i have the hope chest right here in this cup. instead of complaining, i should let the doctor's daughter go, and offer my gratitude to david haddock instead. . .

let me thus end with a nice article on the current seattle coffeefest.

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