Coffee pots and Coffins

Hello my name is Uncle George Whitlow. I am enjoying a fresh cup of fresh ground Community Whole Bean coffee made in a coffee maker that no other people in the house can figure out how to use. After I got it, it took a full hour to read the instructions over and over and over and over again and again to put it together. It is a complicated procedure that starts with pouring in the beans and adding water. Then you push the button and listen to and smell the beans grinding.

I remember the old days assemble the tip half and pour in the grounds. Add water, put on the stovetop and listen to the dripping. I remember coffee pots that were always sitting on top of the old iron wood heater at the deer camp and I remember helping my mother, Johnnie Claire White Whitlow install custom draperies at Mulhearn’s funeral home in Winnsboro Louisiana.  I was 14 then and standing 11 feet on a ladder with the first cordless ratchet screwdriver ratcheting in the screws that held the curtain rod brackets. I felt a little uncomfortable because I was alone in a room in a funeral home with 14 new coffins behind me.

Then I heard the ever slowly creaking of a wooden door opening. I turned slowly and in slow motion I saw the coffin lid open and a man sit up. I forgot I was on a ladder and started bolting for the door. After the dude stopped laughing, he apologized and said he was an employee and was taking an afternoon siesta.

After the visit to the hospital to set my leg, we stopped by the vocational school to meet with mother’s lifelong friend Nelma Perkins, who worked as a secretary for her husband, Willie Bee who operated the vocational school. Nelma said to go on over to their house and put on the coffee pot. Momma put the grounds in the pot, turned on the gas burner and sat the pot on the stove. Then we turned on the TV and watched the news. We must have dozed off, because the smoke and smell of the rubber on the coffee pot handle melting filled the house.

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