Coffee Is A Memory


I am what you might call coffee obsessed. My love for a hot rich dark cup began early on.
My great-grandmother would always fix coffee for my uncle when he stopped by her house on his lunch break and visit with her. She always made sure she had cookies for me so that I could dunk them in my cup and sit with him at the table. He read the paper and talked with her about the latest town happenings and I happily listened soaking vanilla cookies or Oreos in a tall mug of coffee.

I have memories of going to the mountains with my dad. He would fill his Stanley Thermos and we would take off into the woods. We would walk and talk then as a child does, I soaked up all his tall tales tucking those days away in the happy files. Sometimes even seeing an old camping mug and a whiff of Folgers will take me right back there.


In high school and college, I always remember it being the dead heat of summer and my dad would be outside, midday, enjoying a fresh hot brew. I thought he was insane. I mean wouldn’t that make you sweat from the inside out? I soon became addicted,  I too would drink the liquid gold anywhere, in any weather, at any time of day.
Some of my favorite times going to Disney world involved a napping toddler and adults sipping coffee under the shade of an umbrella off Main Street in front of Cinderellas castle. That just sounds dreamy.


New Memories, Same Coffee

Fast forward to present day; I am very much my father’s child. He loved when I would get beans from one of our local coffee shops. Chemex, French Press, the brew method never mattered. A delicious cup of coffee is always enjoyed in good company.  Whenever my dad was able to be off from work he always spent his time working in the garden. He would recall some of HIS best memories; they were in the garden with his grandfather.

It’s no coincidence those will be the same memories my daughter will share of her grandfather. In the afternoon, after my little girl would wake up from her nap, we would grind fresh beans then fix two cups and a snack. Papaw would take a break, and we would enjoy a hot cup of Jo together. The cycle continues. New memories made, but over the same cup of coffee. Coffee is a memory.



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Jessica McClendon

This is me, an East Tennessee transplant to Los Angeles, California, wife to Jacques McClendon, my handsome better half and mom to baby girl Madison who is two.

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