Before Keurig

A long time ago, my Mom & Dad bought me an electric espresso maker, Krups Style 963 made in Switzerland. (Vintage 1980s.)

 I had no idea what to do with it because at the time, I was used to drinking coffee from an aluminum drip maker. Producing the beverage entailed placing a filter full of coffee in between the water vessel and the coffee vessel. But first, the water so crucial to the whole exercise had to be boiled in a pan or a pot. So, it was a process (no microwaves to boil the water fast). Looking back, I realize it was a ritual, but I did not regard it so at the time. Just. Wanted. Coffee.

 Uncurious, I put away the espresso maker.

Fast forward a couple of decades and my sister Elizabeth and I start meeting for lunch occasionally in Downtown Pittsburgh at La Prima Espresso (they have a really nice logo) on Liberty Avenue (now shuttered). Late 2000s, I guess. There Elizabeth, with cosmopolitan sensibilities acquired in our nation's Capital, introduced me to cafe lattes.

Delicious.

At some point in our lunching adventures, it occurred to me to pull from storage, or I stumbled upon it in a fit of tidying up, the Krups Style 963.

It has been part of my morning ritual ever since. The grounds vessel holds about  a tablespoon of Starbucks espresso, which I prepare in the evening. Morning, I fill the maker with water, and press the red "On" switch. Then I microwave half a cup of skim milk for 90 seconds, froth it with the Aero Latte (because the Krups frother no longer works), mix in the espresso and a dash of cinnamon.

Thanks Mom and Dad. You knew what I wanted before I knew I wanted it!

Closer to Heaven?

In the Downtown Pittsburgh ghost town that is G-20, there were still a few civilians, clued in and clueless alike, populating the streets.

Police, police cars and security officers were everywhere. Sidewalks were blocked and shops were closed.

And yet! Starbucks in ripped-up Market Square was open. As I walked back to the office with my small skim latte, a passed a tiny old woman walking hesitantly across the Boulevard of the Allies. When I reached the office door, the security guards asked me if I knew where 21 West Park was.

It's not a where, it's a what. It's a bus route. Tiny old woman had asked them, and they, not knowing, sent her along without an answer. I left my latte and wallet in their hands, sprinted after her and brought her back -- turns out she could barely speak -- scribbling to her on her pad that the buses had been rerouted and I would take her to her stop, once I knew where it was.

Well, the guards ushered her into the lobby, I went upstairs, found the route, came back down, explained to her it was up the street only to learn from her hand motions that she expected me to drive her.

Much pointing and gesticulating ensued, including her mouthing that I was crazy. I kept trying to explain that her stop was just up the street but she was having none of it.

Finally I wrote on her pad: "Do you want me to walk you to the bus stop or not?"

She agreed. By the time we had gotten halfway up the block, I pointed out to her where the buses were stopping. She had a flash of recognition, waved me off and trotted ahead.

Hope she figured out the stops for the rest of the weekend.

Anyway tiny old woman. You're welcome.