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Broken coffee maker

The coffee maker broke.

What was I saying? Oh, yes, the coffee maker broke. It occurs to me that there are other ways to make coffee. Surely, coffee has been made without a coffee maker. I will be able to think of what those ways are once I have coffee. But the coffee maker broke.

It’s fine. It’s Christmastime. And Hanukkah time. And New Year’s time. And I am on deadline. And the kids are home from school. And they need me to play monsters. And they need me to change the sheets after an accident. And they need breakfast. No, not that breakfast. They wanted that breakfast 10 minutes ago. Now they want a new breakfast. And I could absolutely handle getting them second breakfast while changing their sheets as I play a werewolf mummy, but the coffee maker broke.

I’m growling, but I can’t say that it’s because I’m in character. Perhaps all along, mummies were just mommies in need of coffee. Arms stretched out in utter longing. Wrapped in an entire roll of toilet paper because we couldn’t figure out how to rip off a section after the coffee maker broke.

I recall there are instant coffee packets in the cabinet. This recall has used the last of my noncaffeinated brain cells. It’s a wonder I managed to find a few to deliver me this memory. Alas, they are all the brainpower I need. Once the hot coffee touches my lips, my memory, nay, my entire livelihood shall be restored.

I search the cabinet. Cookie mix. Sprinkles. Hanukkah candles. Menorah place mats. Cookie cutters of angels and Christmas trees and dreidels. Curse you, holidays! Your presence has hidden the instant coffee!

The kids need milk, need to go potty, hit me with a paper towel roll. En garde, monster!

I howl, but I can’t say that it’s because I’m in character.

Perhaps werewolves were just mommies after a week without coffee, hairy and grumpy and howling our discontent, close to eating our young.

I find the box of instant coffee. Salvation! New beginnings! Good tidings! The spirit of the holidays in a box!

The box is empty, undoubtedly placed back into the cabinet the most recent time I made instant coffee but prior to taking my first sip. I place the empty box back where it was.

What am I doing? Oh, yes, the coffee maker broke. It is the holidays. Cheer is required. Cheer is demanded. Cheer comes after a cup of hot patience.

I can drive to coffee. I can drive and pick some up and bring some back — a carafe maybe, for future days. It’s a straight shot — one road, no turns. Even I can handle this drive without caffeine.

Where are my keys? Where do I keep my keys? Do cars even still use keys? Have I seen the keys since Christmas? What if I wrapped them? What if I threw them away? What if Santa stole them? What if Santa broke the coffee maker? This is so much worse than coal. I could make coffee over some hot coals. I should write Santa an apology for being naughty. Once I can find the words. Once I have coffee.

I ask my daughter whether she has my keys. She asks whether I have made her bed yet. No, I have not. She says the keys are probably next to the milk. If I get her milk, I will find my keys. I fall for it.

I ask my son whether he has my keys. He laughs. He points to my hand. “I didn’t know mummified werewolves drive.” I look down. I’m holding my keys.

“The coffee maker broke,” I say.

I get in the car. I drive to the coffee shop. No, this won’t do. It’s the holidays, and I’m on deadline, and my kids are home from school. I can’t have a solution for only one day or three days. I need a permanent solution.

I keep driving. Onto the highway. Over to the mall. I buy a new coffee maker.

At home, I pull salvation from its box. I grind the beans. I put them in the filter. I go to add water. Where does the water go in this new coffee maker? I look at the instructions. They look like gibberish.

I could read them — I know I could — after a cup of coffee.

——

Katiedid Langrock is a

nationally syndicated columnist.

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