Moving On

Renae Brumbaugh

Coffee Talk

 

Yesterday, my coffee maker died.

 

It just quit working. No warning. No sputtering or strange noises.

 

It just died.

 

My first reaction was one of those deer-caughtin-the-headlights panic moments. No coffee? How will I ever make it through the day?

 

After a few deep breaths, I remembered I could do what the pioneer women did. They boiled their coffee.

 

Just call me Dr. Renae, Coffee Woman.

 

So I placed a few scoops of the wonderful, black powder into a filter, wrapped it up and stapled it like a teabag. Then I dropped it into a pot of boiling water, and voila! A few minutes later, I had delicious, life-enhancing coffee. I think it was even faster than my coffee pot.

 

Okay, I admit the pioneer women probably didn’t have paper filters or staplers, but I’m still pretty proud of my ingenuity.

 

As I was sipping that first, glorious cup of the morning, I realized . . . I get to pick out a brand new coffee pot!

 

A fleeting moment of guilt passed through my mind. After all, my dear coffee pot had just died. It wasn’t even in its grave yet – it was still sitting on my kitchen counter. It had seen me through years of good times and bad. It had entertained guests and helped me through long nights. And it had gently, faithfully given me something to look forward to, each and every morning.

 

What kind of woman am I? How can I be smiling about a replacement pot so soon?

 

But I knew I had to let go. After all, have you seen some of those new-fangled, high-fallutin’ coffee makers they have on the market these days? My old one was just a plain old, low-end coffee maker. Now, they have coffeemakers that actually grind the beans for you. The kinds that store the coffee within the actual chamber and only release a cup at a time, when you hold your mug under the little spout.

 

And they have colors! My old one was just plain white plastic. With years of coffee stains, so it wasn’t actually white any more.

 

It didn’t take long to move past my sorrow. After all, what’s done is done. Nothing short of a miracle will bring that pot back to life. It’s time to move on.

 

Does that make me a shallow person?

 

Perhaps.

 

Then again, I’ve been guilty of hanging on to things for too long. I’ve been known to carry a grudge, to nurse my wounds, and to wear my feelings on my sleeve for extended periods of time. Those habits haven’t done much to enrich my life. Instead, they keep me from pressing forward. They weigh me down like a ball and chain. And to be perfectly honest, I’m tired of clinging to the past.

 

So starting today, I’m going to let go. I’m moving on. I’ll remember the good, but I won’t let sadness or anger or guilt or anything else keep me from experiencing the great things that wait for me, somewhere out there in the future.