The Coffee Letters

 

Sitting in my memory are the long-ago coffee drinkers, talking about their children, their jobs, or their marriage.  All of the ever so important topics that went so well with cream and sugar.

Unbeknownst to them, technology did not pause while they discussed life.  Advancements were spreading faster than spilled coffee on a new tablecloth.  One such leap of technology came in the shape of instant coffee.  Granules in a glass jar.  Simply plunge your teaspoon into the crunchy mixture and ease them down into a cup of hot water.  Suddenly your morning had begun.

Of course, not everyone warmed up to this high-tech time saver.  A large number of traditionalists held tight to their morning process, suggesting it wasn’t simply taking that first, bitter hot sip, but setting everything up in order to get there was just as important.  “It’s just the way it’s done. Don’t mess with it.”

But as schools, jobs and neighborhoods changed, so did the distance in conversations.  Important issues of the day had found their way to letters.  Old friends kept in touch through the postal system.  As coffee drinkers sat at their kitchen table glancing at the empty chair where their friend once sat, they scribbled out the week’s activities, the disappointments and the juicy gossip.  By the time their morning coffee was gone, the envelope was ready for a stamp, and they felt good getting that off their chest.

However, just as instant coffee had infiltrated their camp, so did electronic mail.  Email, requiring neither stamp nor envelope was upon them, bringing with it the harsh admonishment of spelling errors, syntax and punctuation.  A built-in English teacher came with every computer.

What had been a simple chat over coffee between friends was suddenly dressed up, hair combed, with make-up on.  Now, however, it seemed cold and impersonal, even sterile.  This was not part of the process, there was no preparation, no setting the table.  And this wasn’t the warm, friendly face of your friend looking back at you, this was a cold, impersonal monitor, causing you to squint at its harsh brightness,  suggesting that you had better have something important to say.

So it is there, in the far reaches of the pantry, sitting next to the jar of rarely used instant coffee, you’ll find the flimsy box of unused envelopes that once carried small bits of news between friends.