Sunday, February 12, 2023

Coffee

Coffee;  A dark ambrosia of joy.  Each morning, I make coffee , it is a ritual.  The rite is for both Paul and me, first the coffee beans tumbling into the coffee grinder, till they become granular, and then the sweeping of this into the filter, hot water and the slowly dribble of the water through the filter.  My coffee pot is a royal blue, the old one which I used with Paul was red but it had an accident. Then I take my Derby coffee mug, a beautiful turquoise with a light gold band on the edge.  Turquoise is my favourite colour, matched with pink, for some unfathomable reason.

I was reminded of this by reading "Beyond the Fields we Know" blog, she had woken up with a migraine and had made herself a thick expresso to knock the headache out.

It reminded me years ago of a Turkish student I had had from the language school, Turkish coffee is something else.  He would make it in some tiny cups for us, he was a lovely gentle giant of a man.  Studying textiles at Manchester university later on.  He bought the coffee cups and a tiny jug to top up the cups back from Turkey.  He once wanted to have a go on my spinning wheel, but without any one in the room watching - chuckle.  

His sister would phone him up, and as I answered the phone she would greet me with 'goodbye', I explained several times that you said 'hello' when greeting someone on the phone but it was so funny at the time.

I had many students to look after, some were easy, others more difficult, creating a lot of stress.  Some from rich parents had been tipped out of English boarding schools straight into language school before going on to university.  Young men who had little knowledge of looking after themselves.  Other were older, doctors or teachers.  I still have photos of some, the Japanese man who wanted to live in Bath, the Swiss who stayed on for a couple of weeks more and constructed a zip line for lego creatures down from the top attic to the garden, me worried sick that my son would fall out of the window.  

Davor who was always near tears if things weren't as he wanted (the school sent me the most difficult students).  I remember that first day he arrived, taking him for a walk up on the downs and he rather truculently saying his previous host family had taken him up there also.  The stirring and then sipping his tea from a spoon, and his face contemplating that little bit of fat rind round his pork chop, apparently his mother always took it off for him (he was 27). 

A phone call from the school would alert me that he was on the way home upset by something.  The funniest moment when he came home one day and I found him in his bedroom weeping into a towel whilst a three old Tom jumping on the bed singing to him 'poor, poor Davos'  Now I suppose today his emotional upset would have triggered a whole host of response from experts but in those olden days we just got on with coping.

Coffee has led me down a memory lane, back to a garden I loved dearly and incidents that still bring a smile.


10 comments:

  1. I loved this Thelma - you are a woman after my own heart. Sadness has happened to us both but we have learned to go down memory lane as often as we can and get on with life - seeking out the happy things.

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  2. So interesting Thelma, don't we cope with a lot of damaged/odd souls us women (mainly)! Enjoy your coffee. Love Janx

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  3. This was so lovely to read - we all have our routines and rituals and coffee making is high on my list. I also like your observations on how attitudes change........I don't quite agree with the sometimes quoted 'all change is good' but certainly change is inevitable and 'change happens' !
    Thank you for a gentle, thought provoking post
    Alison in Wales x

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  4. Thanks everyone, it was indeed like a sitcom now I come to think of it. Students from Brazil came in January leaving a hot country to come to miserable old England. One a blonde bombshell whose father was a football magnate came into the house with her friend accompanying her because she was in a tearful state, as she passed the thresh hold the phone rang, it was her mum who knew her daughter only too well. Next week the girl was up in London partying away - something else to worry about. Or the Brazilian policeman, who managed to arrive with his girlfriend and nowhere for her to stay. They had the attic bedroom, and then the first night they were taken to a village pub by the school, our Brazilian policeman threw his wallet on the table, with all his worldly goods inside, and was rather surprised when it was stolen. He spent the rest of the night in the basement trying to open his suitcase - guess where the keys were. There is a sequel to this story. Luckily two girls walking to school along a country lane next morning, found the wallet intact but minus English money. Mum who worked at a solicitors brought it in next morning to Bath.

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  5. We did just get on with things in the past - some of the most awful things. I think of my grandfather who survived WW1 as an example.

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    1. That war was a horror, one has only to read what was written about it Tasker. What I find surprising from my younger days is how much I did compared to now.

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  6. Driving home, I narrowly avoided an accident. My passenger said "You handled that well" and I said "Just getting on with life."

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    1. That is true Joanne, life just happens and you adjust.

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  7. LOL. Lot of memories with that morning cup!

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