I’m a coffee addict. I drink a couple pots a day, which probably isn’t terribly healthy. With that kind of (over)usage, I tend to go through coffee pots fairly quickly. Usually, I’m happy to get a year or two out of them, so I don’t bother spending a great deal of money on them.
Last year, on Mother’s Day, my $10 Sunbeam decided it had had enough, and just stared angrily at me, rather than make my damned coffee. Recalcitrant jerk. It was Sunday, it was Mother’s Day, it was 6 A Fracking M. How terribly rude and inconvenient. Fortunately, Wal-Mart is open, even on Sunday, even on Mother’s Day, even at 6 A Fracking M.
It took some time, and was somewhat later in the morning before I actually got out the door, but I came home with my very first Mother’s Day present (from myself). I decided I’d splurge, and see if I could get more life out of something more expensive. It was sleek, black, and had a cappuccino / espresso maker attached. It was awesome, and I looked forward to the occasional chokalokacappuccino mocha latte ramalamadingdong.
Sadly, by Father’s Day, the thing would take like an hour to brew a pot of coffee, and gurgled and wheezed and caused the windows to rattle and I got the occasional complaint from the neighbors. I could always tell when they had planned on sleeping late in the morning by the evil stares across the yard in the afternoon. I had brewed too early. Still, I was determined to get my fifty bucks worth, and I’ve put up with the rattling, groaning, overpriced piece of garbage for over a year now.
This morning, the neighbors are happy. They are asleep in their beds, contentedly dreaming of JanieBelle and Kate and Lilith and Lucifer, whilst I sit here writing nonsense, enjoying freshly and quietly brewed joe. Little John, his own father now a permanent resident of California, surprised me with a beautiful white cheapo coffee pot for Father’s Day, and I love it dearly already.
But this Father’s Day brings me strange and sad news already as well.
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There was a horrific and fatal wreck yesterday morning, with improbable connections to our family. My wife and son and Little John just delivered it to me.
“I received a call I hoped I’d never get,” Onslow County Sheriff Ed Brown said.
Gene Thomas, 51, a volunteer fireman with the Verona Volunteer Fire Department and Steve Boehm, 36, a deputy with the Onslow County Sheriff’s Department died Saturday after a northbound truck struck them as the two responded to an early morning traffic accident on U.S. 17. Deputy Bill Hall, who was also injured, was taken to New Hanover County for treatment and was later released.
Deputy Steve lived just down the street from us, but we never actually met. We only ever exchanged waves as he passed by.
He was also the SRO at the high school Kay (and J.P. as well, beginning this fall) attends, and by all accounts was very well loved by the students, staff, and faculty. I’ve had many friendly conversations with the Deputy at the middle school, but hadn’t ever bumped into the ones at the high school.
He was also one of the Offensive Coordinators for the High School Football team, and James, now trying out for the team, had just met him the other day at the first practice. A practice I had skipped.
And in yet one more odd connection, his step-daughter used to work for my wife. I had met her there, but never happened in at the same time as Deputy Steve.
My first cup of coffee this morning from the new pot I raise to Deputy Steve Boehm, a man whose life touched my own in multiple ways without us ever having met.
From whence came the art:
The second image is a photograph of Deputy Steve Boehm, from Officer Down.