I washed my coffee pot today. I know, people give zero shits about the cleanliness of my coffee pot. I care though. Mostly because I don’t clean it often. My dad hated his coffee pot clean. He also hated his coffee mug and Yogi Bear spoon to be cleaned. He said that the coffee tasted better if brewed and consumed from a well-love pot. I agree.
It’s just every time I have to clean the coffee pot I’m forced to think of him. Not that I don’t think of him often, because I do, but it makes me think of him in a way that really makes me miss him. And missing him can be really hard at times. Really hard.