Driven from bed by a cranky back, I huddle beneath a wooly afghan and wait for coffee to drip into the clear carafe. It’s still dark, so early I had to manually adjust the automatic thermostat upward to awaken the furnace, which bumps and whirs into action.
As I wait for my coffee, I’m transported back to winter mornings long ago in that little white house on 7th Street. Every room, except the dining room, opened into a short hall that housed our very own pet dragon, sleeping beneath a dark grate. When roused and fed a steady supply of natural gas, our faithful friend warmed the entire house with his fiery breath. I can almost feel his toasty blast and see my robe billow out in hoop-skirt fashion.
Before I pour my first cup of coffee, I can’t resist standing over a heat register in the floor. The air forced through its puny gills barely warms my feet, making me long for a sizzling burst from that old dragon’s throat.
I settle again beneath my cozy cover with my own form of mocha—strong Dunkin Donut Coffee laced with Atkins Dark Chocolate Royale Shake. Between sips I study a mug my friend, Billie, gave me.
And I thank God for warm memories of that old furnace and friendships, both old and new, that sweeten my predawn hours.
Good Morning To All My Faithful Friends!