A Gift for My Hostess

I remember waking up early before the rest of the household and making coffee. Where is the sugar? I thought to myself as I fumbled around in a foreign kitchen. Hope they have half and half. I poured a cup of coffee, took a sip and then spat in the kitchen sink. SALT! Damn I thought that was sugar! I searched all the cabinets. No sugar. Pat woke up and entered the kitchen with toasty slippers in a warm terry cloth bathrobe.

“What are you looking for?” Pat whispered. We tried not to wake the other sleepers. We failed.

“Sugar” I replied embarrased.

Pat opened a cabinet. She found a pretty canister with white sugar in four seconds flat. I configured my second cup of coffee.

Five minutes later the world was a better place at least for me it was. I had coffee.

Pat and I drank coffee and stared out the window at the garden for a few minutes in silent reflection.

We came to the sierras for Melissa’s memorial service. Mo was killed in a traffic accident suddenly. Truck tire blowout, head-on collision, and Mo was gone. Maybe coffee will help with our mental clarity as we prepare for Mo's memorial service.

“Coffee ready yet?” Tom whispered as he shuffled into the kitchen.

“I really like your bathrobe, Tom” I commented as Pat poured a cup of java for her sweetie.
“Where did you get this one Pat?” I whispered.

“Thrift store in Merced” she responded. I thought Tom and Pat's bathrobe collection was cool. Tom won't say much in the morning until has has coffee and the morning paper.

Three people drank coffee and stared out the window as we greeted a new day.

Our hostess entered the kitchen. She had a small pot pipe and baggie of homegrown. She had been on the computer doing more research on her disease. Stacks of books about cancer surrounded her bed. She needed a break.

“Mornin” we mumble in unison. She was fighting cancer. Pot was her pain reliever. She took a toke. We drank coffee. Four people stared out the window at the Sierra foothills.

“It is so quiet up here in the mountains. So peaceful.” I commented as I left the group to walk outside through the garden coffee mug in hand.

The sun was filtering through the canopy of trees. Birds sang, Fall colors surrounded me but I didn't see color that day. My heart was filled with saddness for my loss of a friend named MO. Did not see color that day only black and white.

I openned my car trunk. I was not sure what would be a good gift for our hostess. This morning I had the answer. I returned to the kitchen with a small baggie in my hand.

“Here is some bud I think you will enjoy.” I offered it to my hostess. She smiled and looked at me with soft eyes.

“Thank you, Doug” she said. "Want a toke?" she asked.

"I'm good," I replied. "Just need coffee, scambled eggs, sausage and toast for breakfast this morning."