Little did I know that bluesman Mississippi John Hurt has been singing my song for years. In “Coffee Blues,” Hurt laments about a woman that could cook him a good cup of Maxwell House coffee. But as the women do in blues music, she moved away. Hurt just wants a “lovin spoonful” and he can’t get it.
Good mornin’, baby, how you do this mornin’?
Well, please, ma’am, just a lovin’ spoon,
just a lovin’ spoonful
I know that his lyrics contain more innuendo than I intend, but I have to admit that my relationship with coffee can be pretty intimate. I am unabashedly a coffeehead.
But I woke up with the coffee blues this morning. I heated up water twice to add to my freeze dried beans only to refuse to take the next step. For the first time in a long time, I went without any form of coffee this morning. I just didn’t want the imitation stuff. I sang the blues all day at work as my caffeine headache gained intensity.
Then after a long day of figuratively pulling the children’s teeth I stumbled home a broken man. But there upon the door hung my solace. My father-in-law (God bless him)Terry sent me about half a pound of finely ground Starbucks French Roast. You could almost smell the grounds from the front door of the apartment.
Thanks to Terry, I finally got “my lovin’ spoonful,” and just in the nick of time.
To top it off, my sister Sallie sent a package with candy corns. I don’t claim to be a lover of candy, but candy corns are a weakness and a passion.
Talk about two people who know how to show they care. Thanks you two.
Well Lindsay and I are off to a mask/dance festival in Andong about five hours from here. We will give you all the details when we get back.