There was always a pot brewing. Black, unleaded, Maxwell House as if it were going to disappear.
I always wanted a sip to see what all the hype was about but it was out of the question.
I would clear the table after our three course fill of shooting-the-shit.
No elbows on the table-no hats- no cursing-and keep your feet on the damn floor.
I convinced myself,all those colorless cups of Joe are what gave my Grandmother such a sharpness of her tongue.
No cream-no sugar-just flat.
“The Battle Ax.” my grandfather said, giving me his crooked grin for the stab at my Grandmother.
It always made me laugh but I had to ask,
“why does she drink it black?”
As soon as I did, I was transported back to the cusp of the Great Depression,
whisked away to a time where cream and sugar where a luxury and coffee alone was “just-fine.”
the Dust Bowl,
child labor and the lack of laws,
trying to find a steady hand to draw your nylon seam on straight,
my piss poor grandmother,
living through World War II with her family intact,
and being at “this here table today” she said.
“No matter what just work hard, it’s always good for the soul to wear-out your favorite pair of boots.”
I’m glad to be at this table too.
She and my Grandfather
are truth.
buzzin' 
This is so fucking lovely. And it’s such a beautiful memory. I love how observant and keen you are not only to your world, but to theirs.
“No matter what just work hard, it’s always good for the soul to wear-out your favorite pair of boots.” MOTTO. THIS IS THE MOTTO.
its such a vivid memory for me. I remember that night so well she really took me back the start of 1929, the start of our family and the start of our work ethic.
LOVE THAT MOTTO, BEST ONE TO LIVE BY. ❤ LOVE THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE GRANDPARENTS.