The Best cups of Coffee: no2

Christmas is often a strange time for me. The end of the year often leaves me tired, thoughtful and a little raw. It’s a good thing that at the same time is a religious celebration filled with messages of hope and various strains of merriment, which counters my personal melancholy. But sometimes it’s not enough.

When I was a kid I thought I’d never like girls, and I thought it was pretty certain that I was a mutant-type of child who would never fall for that mushy stuff. But along with the rest of the human race I grew up and fell in love all over the place. I think at that time my dream of being the lone-ranger warrior type had swiftly changed to being a good ol’ married man, and I think the plan was to have it done by 26. I’m 30 and still the warrior type.

How that relates to Christmas time is simply the fact that the family season tends to compound any longings for one of your own. Don’t get me wrong, spending it with the family of my birth is always a sincerely special occasion, I guess it’s just that at that time you realise how well the two go together.

2007 was a Christmas like that. I had just switched careers from being an engineer to following my dream of being a pastor, and hence had much food for retrospective thought. Those amplified pensive waves combined with the usual brooding to bring on quite a tender emotional state. The Christmas spirit did a lot to bring some warmth, and the family gatherings with wheelbarrow loads of sticky gammon, potato bake, grilled chicken, roast lamb and less-impressive salad types also balanced the musings with dashings of great flavor.

I’ve realised that there are some couples that intimidate single people, especially those who look like they’re constantly practising patting their dogs. Then there are some that manage to infuse the good side of the relational spirit into the lives of single people. My friend and colleague Stephen and his wife Bianca are pretty peerless in that regard. As Christmas day 2007 was dying and everyone was starting to settle into that weird combination of anticlimax and satisfaction, this couple invited me over to her families farm to sit by a fire and drink some coffee. Of course I said yes.

We sat by that fire and drank around 3 mugs each of some cheap Portuguese coffee found only on the streets of Rosettenville. I think we finished a whole tin. I dont remember anything that we spoke about, or anything significant that happened. It was just a warm night around a warm fire with coffee.

Maybe that black coffee represented the proverbial cure to the emotional hangover of Christmas. Or maybe it represented the last order to a great meal, perfecting a day of physical and emotional mealtime. Maybe it represented the kind of fellowship that is inclusive and therapeutic, or maybe even the perk to kick-start a new year.

Or perhaps it’s just the aroma that is loved universally and which can only be the satisfaction of significant relationships with families and friends.