Krups, who I often called K, was my best friend for twenty some-odd years. From the day we met, we were inseparable. The whir of her bladed heart made me smile. Every morning she ground aromatic java beans, and some evenings she even convinced me I needed Hazelnut or caramel decaf. K didn’t just hand me perfect coffee, she made sure my flax seed and almonds were finely chopped just the way I liked them.
Then, one day a few months ago, K died. No warning, no goodbye, she just didn’t wake up one morning. With tears in my eyes, I broke the news to Don. In an effort to soothe me, he suggested we bring his friend Cuisinart in to fill K’s spot, but it was too soon. I had found K dead less than ten minutes earlier and needed time to grieve.
As I wallowed in grief, Don came up with another suggestion. “Hey, what about your grandmother’s coffee grinder?
“Huh?” I said, unsure of what he was talking about.
Then, my gaze fell on the old crank coffee mill—Goodwood, or G.W. for short—that had been living on the countertop for several years. G.W. never moved or made a sound, and he certainly never complained about all the attention K got.
That same morning after I laid K to rest in the recycling bin—she had been so giving that I was sure she wanted her parts donated—I put G.W.to the test. I loaded his portal with fresh coffee beans and cranked the handle, around and around, and smiled as he revealed his deep bass voice. He worked hard to produce a good java. However, because he was older and a bit cranky, it took him longer to get the job done.
I still miss K and think of her often, but G.W. has proven to be a wonderful friend as well. Over time, his joints have loosened a bit and he is a bit more spry, always eager to grind my beans to perfection. Too bad he and K never noticed each other when she was alive. They would have made perfect companions.
STROKING THE PEN 