Two Types of Coffee
My family’s sense of humor can be dark, if not positively macabre, at times. Sister’s spouse was diagnosed with terminal — something — maybe 18 months back. Since the first of the year, it’s been a situation where I keep a bag packed, ready to hop out to the Loving Left Coast
As one might expect, I kept getting getting introduced to people, “These are my next-door neighbors, they live over at,” with the presumption on my part that my sister knows everyone in the tiny community and there is much love and effusive support. Pretty sure she knows evey resident by name.
I stopped off at her mailbox to collect the incoming mail. Person behind the counter, as soon as I said I was the brother, he gushed and teared up, asked about how everyone was holding up and fetched the mail out of the mailbox.
“Tell Penelope ‘Bubba’ sends his best.”
Condolences. Again, with the effusive support my sister. She knows everyone.
Before the journey started, my own, wee mum — the one who locked me out — picked up some deluxe, fresh roasted, artisanal coffee beans. Brought them with me. Looks like this will be longer than anticipated, have to get family situated and there is much involved in the death process, so…
I bought supplies.
Looks like I’ll be here for a spell. What was that quote?