3 o'Clock Coffee Time

7:10 PM

  When I was younger, and still lived at home with my parents, 3pm was magic time. I'm exaggerating, as usual, it wasn't really magic, but it did turn into this magical memory that I didn't appreciate then as much as I do now.
3pm just happened to be the time when the 'rents and and I would had coffee together. In high school, I got out of class just in time to make it home at precisely the same time that they arrived home from work. In college, 3pm was right before I headed into work myself. My mom would never forget that I like three scoops of sugar and half a cup of milk and I would never forget to grab Dad's cookies before I sat down. We would all sit together in the living room and drink some coffee, recharge and go attack the rest of the day. I'd tell them about my afternoon--they'd tell me about theirs. Then Mom would make dinner, Dad would watch soccer and I'd pretend to do homework while really just doing my fingernails. It's strange to me how normal that seemed then. Well, not that it's abnormal, but I just sort of took it for granted.

Big time.

Today, when I got home from work, I immediately put on a pot of coffee. I don't have a high schooler to confer with, but I do have dogs and we are going to have ourselves some 3 o'clock magic coffee time.

I grew up to be someone who has dogs for family members. Feel free to chuckle, but in the absence of actual human children, these puppies make fine substitutes and I feel strangely maternal in regards to them. I love that when I'm perched in front of my computer in my little home office, they all crowd in, lay at my feet and snore peacefully while I clack-clack-clack on my keyboard. They follow me from room to room and no matter how early I wake up in the morning, they too will hop out of bed and join me for coffee in the dining room.

Family doesn't have to be biological. I believe that so very firmly. Family is a choice. A choice in which two entities choose to love and return each other's love without ever changing their mind. That's family. And however your make your family--dogs, humans, friends, whatever--it is inmeasurable the worth.

I spent my weekend with my family--dogs included. It was one big fat weekend of magical coffee time all over northern Michigan.

Hey, even Santa's a proud American.


A couple of very wonderful things happened this weekend and this is one of them. I saw, with my very own eyes, Prairie Home Companion

Live! I was literally breathing the same oxygen as Garrison. THE VERY SAME!

The other wonderful thing was this:

My Grandma had her very first (1st!!!) s'more ever. I was so proud to witness perhaps the happiest event in her young life. S'mores are one of God's perfect creations, like nice long indian summers or Christmas trees or shiny caramal apples---so you can imagine my shock and anguish upon learning that she had never once indulged. We quickly agreed that this was a problem to rectify pronto. We did and she loved it.

We went to an air show.
And nearly lost our ear drums. These things are louuuud!

I love how old things, old buildings, old everything, exist to teach about what used to be. Sometimes it's hard for me to imagine a world so unlike the one I live in, but really, just a few decades ago, the world was a different place. Back when "text" meant words and Frank Sinatra was exhibiting what it mean to be a real singer. None of that autotune business. Just pure talent.

The cool thing is that this place still exists. Not just the physical building, but the memory of what used to be is still living in the heads of so many people. It's there, it's real and it's goooood.

Makes me want to slip on a pencil skirt and wear red lipstick and stockings every day. I want to put my hair in rollers, ride in old cars and only answer my phone when I'm at home, because that's where it stays, plugged into the wall.


Sunday always comes to quickly. I feel like I write that sentence every weekend, but it's always true. There's never enough time between Friday and Monday and so it was all too quickly time to drain the last bits of coffee from our cups and put away the cream and sugar until the next time 3 o'clock rolled over.

Between my book, intermittent conversation and a pit stop for snacks, three hours passed mercifully quickly. I remembered as soon as I walked in that sometimes it's nice to be at home, especially when you haven't been there for a few days. It can't be 3 o'clock all the time--it wouldn't be special if it were--and sometimes it's damn good to linger in the other hours of the day.

I lingered in at eleven o'clock when it was time to pile into bed with all my favorite snugglers. I linger at eight, when I eat dinner in silence with Ryan. I will linger when it comes time to sit on the back stoop while the sun starts to set. Lingering on a glass of wine.

And when the clock ticks 3, as it always does, I will be there, hand curled around a mug of coffee, ready to linger some more.

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