Arbitrary Bits and Pieces About Joe

No, I'm not talking about Joe down the street, across town, the inn keeper or the latest guy to get arrested.

I'm talking about coffee.

There are so many names for it these days: Joe, java, black gold, morning mud, battery acid, bean juice, brew, and my favorite, wait for it, wakey juice. Love it!

It is believed that the craze started with goats. That's right, goats. Ethiopian shepherds noticed their goats were frisky after eating coffee berries. Mmm, berries. While there isn't a lot out there to support this theory, it's a good bedtime story, right? 

Back to fact...A coffee tree can grow up to 30', but this makes it difficult to collect the berries. Over the years, the trees have been cultivated to grow around 10'. Still a bit high for us short folks.

In 1675 King Charles II issued a proclamation closing coffee houses in England "because in such houses, and by the meeting of disaffected persons in them, divers false, malicious, and scandalous reports were devised and spread abroad, to the defamation of his majesty's government, and the disturbance of the quiet and the peace in the realm." Whoa! That's pretty serious. Fortunately the closings didn't last long. I bet there were some people out there with a bad case of the shakes during the closings!


Satori Kato, a Japanese scientist living in Chicago first invented instant coffee in 1901. George Washington, not our President, but rather a man from Belgium, living in Guatemala (Got all of that?), is credited with developing his own instant coffee and successfully commercially marketing it around 1910.

Coffee is the second most traded commodity, behind oil. You here that big oil? Stop pinching my wallet!

Latte art is the practice of making designs in the milk/foam topping (microfoam) of an espresso. There are different levels of snobbery concerning latte art. Purists insist the design must be created by the simple movements of the pouring vessel (free pouring), while others accept that the art may be created utilizing a stirring stick (etching). 


I think someone may have misunderstood my intentions when I placed my order for my beverage. I want to drink, guzzle, sip, knock back, devour, or otherwise consume it in its entirety. I have zero interest in showing it off to my friends, family and/or neighbors. Oh and if I'm paying more than $4 for the brew, it better be yummy or I'm coming back for you and your little dog too!

During WWII our GIs ordered espresso with water so they could dilute the flavor. This became known as the Americano preparation. I refuse to type disparaging remarks about those who serve our country, so all I'm going to say is…Really?!? Fine. Okay. I gotcha. Wait, really?!?

With all that said, there are many ways to prepare java. My favorite preparation is the macchiato.

How do you like your joe? (Tall, dark and handsome is not an option.)

Memories

As another birthday has come and gone I have spent some time thinking about the past and thought I'd share a few stories with you.

Growing up we had a square coffee table in our living room between the couch and the TV. The top was some type of ceramic tiles in an off white color surrounded by dark wood. It had four legs which connected the top platform to the bottom wooden platform of the table, which rested on the floor. My sister, Farrah, and I would squeeze under there together to where one could only see our feet sticking out. We would laugh and fight and have a great time while in this very small, confined space. No one ever really knew what we were really doing under there until one day my mom decided to lay under there with me. Farrah and I had made our own "weather map" on the bottom of the table. We had drawn, to the best of our ability, the US and had cold fronts, snow, tornadoes and hurricanes all over the place in crayon! You can just imagine the look on her face when she saw what we had done to her table! She actually took it well. It was one of the many times she would say, "Just don't tell your father." Somehow or another he found out and didn't take it well. My mom was, and actually still is, the master of keeping our dad calm and with the program, even after 25 or so years of being divorced. You should have seen him on my wedding day. I heard it was touch and go there for a while! I do wish we had pictures of our weather map. It would be interesting to see if our forecasts came true. Who knows, maybe we could have given Al Gore a run for his money!

Our stepfather, Johnny, had a number of issues which caused home to not be pleasant, but he had his moments where the person he could be would shine through. He was the master of making fun appear out of nothing, which was important because we didn't have anything! We had a plastic red bat and white ball that you could buy for $3. Our bases were "borrowed" from local construction sites. You know the round blinking lights on top of the orange barrels? Well they make wonderful bases for nighttime baseball! We would always give our mom a hard time because she would usually end up popping a blood vessel in her hand and we'd have to quit. In her defense, her hand would swell and she would have an awful bruise for a while, but we were kids and had no mercy for our fun being ruined!


There is one baseball story that sticks in my mind vividly. We were playing during the day and Johnny was pitching to us. It was my turn up to bat. I had always been a bit timid of the ball because I didn't want to get hit. I had seen my sister and cousin pinged by balls when they played and saw that it wasn't pleasant. He had been trying to work with me to stay "in the box" when pitched to and this time I was convinced I wasn't going anywhere. He pitched the ball to me, I stayed still, timing my swing, then BAM! I made contact. I instantly had a smile on my face. I hit the ball right on and it was going to fly. I knew I was going to make it at least to 3^rd base, if not home the moment the ball left the bat. Then I heard the noise. It was a dry thud. I looked across the "field" and there was Johnny with his hands up to his face. The ball had hit him. Wait, now he's down on one knee. I've really hurt him. Oh crap! Everyone ran to him and I ran in the house to hide. I just KNEW I was going to be in trouble. He came and found me after he had ice on his eye to let me know it was okay and that he would be fine, but it was really bad. His eye was swollen shut and had already started turning colors. I felt horrible. To this day, my family still laughs at the fact that I ran.

Keeping with the topic of black eyes, I have a story about Farrah. Johnny had taken us to a field to ride our go kart one day while mom was at work. It had rained the night before so everything was nice and muddy and we were looking to have a great time! Farrah had been riding the go kart for a while and it was my turn. She thought she was going to be cool and speed toward us then cut the wheel to skid out and throw mud on us. Well, it didn't quite turn out the way she planned. When she cut the wheel, the go kart kept sliding forward, toward us and the truck. We jumped out of the way and she slid into the tailgate. It turned out that the she hit her head on the tailgate and had an instant black eye and most likely a headache. It was officially time to go home. That afternoon when mom came home Farrah was laid out on one couch and I was sitting very quietly on the other. When she greeted me I burst into tears. She asked me what the matter was and I just looked toward Farrah. When she saw what had happened she lost it on Johnny. Now, while I am sorry my sister was hurt, I'm convinced the crying was for Johnny. My mom lit into him like the 4^th of July. It was BAD! Farrah and I laugh about it now, but we both know he knew it wasn't going to be good when mom got home that day. Oh, and we never did go back to that lot to ride the go kart. It's still my turn!


That's all I have to share for now. I'll think of some more to share later.


Maybe some of you have stories you want to share of your childhood or of times we spent together?

Snickerdoodle

When I was 18 my college roommate brought home a puppy for me. We named her Snickerdoodle, but called her Snickers for short. She was the cutest little dog and turned out to be a mess! When we would leave for class we would put her with her bed in the kitchen and confine her there via a baby gate. When we would come home she would sometimes have dislodged the gate and have gotten out. Eventually we had to buy a second gate and double stack them on top of each other because she would actually scale it and greet us at the front door when we returned home.

When she would get out she would leave us smelly surprises, on the carpet of course, as well as make us aware that there were items in the apartment which were too low to the ground. Those items would include, but not be limited to our laundry, tissues, and hangers just to name a few.

She had a wonderful little personality. She always seemed happy and energetic, but was always up for a nap. She loved people, but wasn't much for other animals. When Ray and I moved to Florida we took her to this great dog park in West Palm. It had three different parks: one for large dogs, one for medium dogs and one for ankle biters like Snickers. While there she would run around and sniff everything. When the other dogs would come around, she would stop what she was doing and look at them for a second then turn away and wander off. She noticed all the owners were on the benches under the trees and made her way to them. They loved on her and she ate it up. When the other dogs would come to the people, Snickers would wander off again only to return for the attention when the other pooches had dispersed.

She loved to ride in the car and put her head out the window, she made sport of stealing food off your plate, but as a mix of beagle and daschund, she had a habit of running off. The last time she ran off she was hit by a car and did not survive. It's been almost 2 years and as odd as some may find it, it was very difficult time. I actually called my boss and got scheduled off work the next day. It still bothers me that I could have done something different that day and she could be curled up asleep next to me right now.

It's interesting how our pets become more than just a dog or cat. They are our companions who greet us when we return home from school, work or a day of shopping. They are not judgmental and seem to, unlike our peers, love us no matter what. They are completely reliant on us for sustenance and care and have unwittingly placed their trust in us for their livelihood.


All of this to say that Ray and I have recently started talking about getting a pet. I know I want a cat, but I think a pooch would be good too. We keep coming back to beagles and found that we really like the under 13's. We've talked about a few of the different terriers too, but some of them are a bit too purse sized and I'm not sure Ray will be allowed to keep his man card if we were to get one!
Any pooch suggestions? Any stories to share?