This post is called Durango because that's where I am. Or near enough. We are in a gigantic Airbnb about a 15-minute drive north of Durango, CO for my in-laws' 50th wedding anniversary extravaganza. The whole extended clan is here, extended meaning my in-laws, both their sons, and their families. We had an adventure getting here--our original flight to Denver was canceled, with no explanation, which we discovered at 4:00 the morning we were scheduled to fly at 9. The flight they rebooked us on was unacceptable for a number of reasons and the wait time to talk to an agent was 8 hours. So, after some actually relatively mild freaking out, we booked tickets for the same evening to Phoenix. The flight was smooth enough, we spent the night in a hotel, and drove 7.5 hours the next day, yesterday, to Durango. It was a long drive, but spectacular. We saw cacti and mesas and painted desert, dust storms, rock formations, and tumbleweed. We ate lunch at a truly abysmal Dairy Queen, but w...
We have developed a nighttime routine that works (for now!). We do whatever we do that evening (a walk, cook, etc.) and then, if there's time, watch a bit of tv. Maybe we'll have a little snack, maybe we won't. After an episode or so it is time for bed and Matt leaves the couch to grind coffee and prepare the pot for the next morning. (I do my part by staying on the couch cuddling with the dog.) Finally, he takes the dog out while I scoot upstairs and start getting ready for bed. That was background to introduce today's featured topic, which is the delight that is the smell of that coffee. Freshly ground, its smell finds my nose all the way from the kitchen. I have always loved the smell of coffee, since well before I enjoyed the bitter taste. The smell is earthy but also heady. It is perfection. It is ecstasy. It is comfort and excitement. If I happen to be in the kitchen instead of on the couch during coffee-prep time I stick my nose deep into the grinder and breathe ...