Friday, December 9, 2011

FFF - Burned Coffee

Listen to Dean on the right while reading
I remember the sounds of the "rat pack" on her radio and the smell of burned coffee in her kitchen on a Sunday morning; the kitchen was never her forte.  But she was always good to me and Sunday was always the best time.  Sunday was our time together.  Sunday and burned coffee meant that her gentlemen callers would be at home with their families or out on the golf course.  Sunday and burned coffee meant I was the center of her universe and those Sunday conversations were how I learned to be a man.

Miami in the 1960's was no place for a young boy on the streets.  The Cuban mafia had emigrated from Havana and without direction a boy like me was destined to be a sacrificial soldier in their wars.

But she took me off the streets of Little Havana when no other would and guided me from bastard to man.  I guess it's not quit the childhood one reads about or hopes for; but for me she was a savior.

And so whenever that waitress tells me "honey, let me make a fresh pot for you," I kindly say "no, just let me have the burned coffee" and I smile and remember a rose who loved me and who I adored so many years ago.


I don't know why but I thought of this song when I saw this picture.  I've always liked this group and they hail from a town just down the road a piece from me!  :) Please take a listen!



3 comments:

Lusting Lola said...

Fantastic! I loved the detail and the sense of reverie.

France said...

I love this, very much. Happy Friday!!

Word said...

I really like the story you pulled from the picture.