I am tired.
I feel overwhelmed, getting used to the new normal of working as well as writing as well as being a Mummy and wifely type.
I have drunk more coffee this week than I have done in years.
I am grateful to my English Grandmother, Phyllis, for instilling in me a love of good coffee. (She was a rarity in war torn Britain - a woman that insisted on real coffee, not tea. I remember her avoidance of the innovative freeze dried in the 1970's, her preference for her complicated gurgling Cona, a Heath Robinson influenced contraption of burners, geezers and tubes interlinking to glass jugs.)
She kept her coffee tins and recycled them to keep home made fudge in. (I adore coffee tainted fudge for this reason.)
She taught me to make fine coffee.
She taught me to make fudge.
She taught me to cut bread so thinly for sandwhiches it melts in the mouth.
She taught me how to sew buttons and complete tapestry.
She taught me to clean windows with newspaper and methelated spirits.
She taught me to preserve fruits for jams and chutneys.
She taught me giggles and cuddles from a massive bust.
I am grateful to Granny, and this week, I am grateful for coffee.