A Perfectly - Percolated - Pot - of Coffee

Some people are hardcore coffee drinkers.  It's as if their mothers had fed them coffee in their baby bottles instead of formula.  For me, although I loved the smell that wafted from my Dad's coffee can of Folgers, I could never get into drinking the famous morning elixir.... until I had to. 

I have always been a tea enthusiast.  Whether it be the frigid nights of January or the hottest evening of August, I will brew a pot (yes a POT) of tea after dinner.  For the mornings however, tea just wasn't cutting it.  Tea does not seem to give me that caffeine high that coffee produces - and despite being delicious, I needed something with a little more "octane" for my wake up time of 5:30am.  I decided it was time to MAKE myself become a coffee drinker. 

Then the question arose of how to make my coffee -- and what kind of coffee to use.  For those that know me or follow my blog, I am not a fan of modern technology.  Oh yes, I am addicted to my iphone and would be lost without my laptop and Netflix, but I prefer a time when things were done more by hand and weren't as disposable as they are now (my Iphone 5 is less than a year old and I am already seriously thinking of replacing it because I constantly have issues with it -- while my 70 year old rotary phones work as well as the day they were made).  Also being limited on counter space in my small apartment, I did not want a bulky auto-drip machine taking up valuable space.. and the ever popular Keurig machine is just way to Star Trek-like for my home which is perpetually stuck in 1947. 

The solution?  A percolator of course!! 

I had never personally seen a coffee percolator in use.  Growing up in the 80s, Mr. Coffee machines were the norm.  Through my love of old movies I was well aware of this former coffee making king which was dethroned in the 1970s thanks to the plastic auto-drip coffee revolution.   But what kind should I get?  Electric?  Stovetop?  Aluminum? Stainless steel? Glass?  How do I use one?  

I'd seen old commercials that would talk about a housewife's ability to make good coffee... but never quite understood this commentary, jokes about the wife's brewing abilities.  After all, the machine makes the coffee -- if you don't like the taste, just switch brands... why blame the wife?  It wasn't until I started using a stovetop percolator  that I realized it was very possible to make an awful pot of coffee - usually by over brewing it.

As I mentioned earlier I am not a coffee enthusiast, but have really come to look forward to my morning pot of miracle juice... that helps to keep me from killing my co-workers when I stumble into my office early in the morning.  There's something about the routine... the ritual of actually MAKING my morning coffee that I really love --- Turning the burner on -- measuring out the water for the pot - counting the table spoons of coarse (NOT fine!) ground coffee and waiting for that moment when the water starts to percolate in the glass knob... then watching the water getting darker as the coffee gets stronger.  It's like magic!!!

It surprised me how defensive and snobbish hard core coffee drinkers get about different coffee making methods. No matter what the topic is, if you are passionate about something, I guess  you're going to be very defensive of your ideas... Politics, Religion, Coffee.  It makes no difference.  When I was first learning to make coffee on the stove, I Googled "using a stovetop percolator" and found all sorts of snarky responses such as: There's no such thing as GOOD percolated coffee... and Step one, throw out the percolator.  Step two, but a Keurig.  Being a fan of all things vintage and retro - I plugged along with trial and error -- watching all sorts of youtube videos and learning all I could about the percolator.

Now I have become a wiz at making coffee in my stovetop percolator.  I feel just like Edith Bunker or Jessica Fletcher!!   After trying out many models and styles, I have settled on a neat vintage Farberware stainless steel model pictured here. It's from the 1950s and looks so cool.  I feel like a little kid as I wait for that moment the water starts to bubble and splash and love to hear the sound of it merrily perking away.  Yes, a percolator can make a very bitter cup of coffee... but if you know what you are doing, you'll have perfection in a cup!!

For all percolators, use COARSE ground coffee -- the pre-ground coffee in most stores is fine grind made for autodrop machines - which pass the water through the grounds once.  If you use this in a percolator - which passes water through the grounds multiple times - you'll end up with battery acid as it will extract WAY too much out of the beans.  You can buy whole bean coffee and either grind it at home or in the grocery store.

Keep the pot over high heat until the perking action starts -- once the water starts bubbling steadily, REDUCE the heat to low/simmer.... it won't take much to keep the perking action going.  If you have the heat turned up too high you will burn the coffee (which is where the poor housewife of yesteryear would get the blame).  Let it perk gently for 6-8 minutes on low heat until the desired strength is achieved (you can see the coffee getting darker through the glass knob on top of the pot to help determine its strength).  I personally don't like my coffee super strong, so six minutes is great for my taste -- but if you like high octane coffee.. let it brew longer.  After the coffee is done, I use a teapot warmer - a cast iron trivet with a tealight candle underneath - to keep the coffee pot warm while not on the stove. 

When done correctly, percolated coffee is delicious!!!  When making percolated coffee the right way, you'll get a smooth/rich cup of java.


For Christmas my siblings and I pitched in to buy my Dad yet another fancy Keurig coffee maker since his previous model died after two years of use.  My simple stainless steel Farberware stovetop percolator is still making amazing coffee after 60+ years... and barring me denting it or breaking the handle (which is entirely possible because I'm a klutz), it should be making many many more pots of wonderful coffee for years to come!

Click here to watch a vintage Maxwell House coffee commercial featuring the percolator

Through the eyes of children...

Yesterday I had my small family over to my apartment to celebrate Mother's Day.  I say small family, but when I try to cram everyone into my apartment it feels like hosting a football team.  I'm not sure how we all managed to fit into my dining room, but we did ---- only once you sat down, you had to stay there! 

My niece (2) and my nephew (5) were also there.  As my friends and family would tell you, I'm not exactly paternal.  My apartment isn't what you'd call kid friendly and I must admit... neither am I.  When God was giving out that nurturing gene that gives one the urge to get on the floor and play with kids and speak fluently in gibberish, I was too busy waiting in line for my "cranky old man" gene.   I put on my bravest front and pretended that I wasn't having mini strokes every time the kids picked up something that was sitting on a shelf or table.

My niece and nephew really are good kids - and my OCD aside, the night went very well.  My apartment has an interesting feature that everyone else but me finds fascinating.  It has a "turret room" off the living room.  It's called that because this part of the house is shaped like the turret of a castle.  Due to it's small space, angled ceilings and lack of heat in the winter... it's just used as storage for all my many boxes of... stuff.  To me it's just an attic space -- but for others it seems to be an area of intrigue.  In fact, when someone comes to my house for the first time I will politely ask my mother before they come to not include the turret room on the tour.  After all.. who shows off their messy attic when they have company over?  I slaved for hours to dust and polish the rest of the place... so don't look behind the little door off the living room to see where the real mess is hidden, please.

On the few occasions my nephew has come over I normally don't allow him into that room -- for two reasons:  1.  It's a mess in there.  2. Children break stuff (so the little voice in the back of my mind tells me).  Finally though, I relented and let Collin and Brittany go into the mysterious turret.

Collin behaved himself and left my piles of junk alone... but the kid was in amazement.  You could see and hear his imagination going at full speed.  My mother turned to me and said, "this is something he will remember for the rest of his life.".  I don't know that it will stay in his memory the rest of his life since my apartment isn't a regular part in his routine, but it got me thinking of when I was a kid and would explore the world... at least the world as I knew it... on my own.

Usually this exploration occurred at my Grandma's house.  There were two great "worlds" to explore there:  Uncle Vinny's room and the crawl space.  Like a child entering Narnia, the crawl space was a magical world hidden in the back corner of the basement...dark...and full of treasures.  Treasures left over from the "old house" (the house they had lived in a few years before I was born).  Treasures from the 50s and 60s that I am convinced helped to spark my love of anything relating to the first half of the 20th century.
Because I can remember my own explorations as a kid, I think I am all the wiser about.. and more leery of little kids.  I know your plots kids because I used to be you!  My older brother and I would constantly explore my Uncle's room -- the electric guitar tucked away under his bed, the treasure chest (yes - he literally had one!) on the night stand by his bed -- and the record albums of bands I had never heard of before (after all, he didn't have the Sesame Street Gang's Biggest Hits album...sadly). 

In my defence though, I was always very cautious when "exploring" Grandma's house.  Yes, I went into boxes I shouldn't have -- closets that were off limits (there's a joke there somewhere), but I was always very careful to preserve with the utmost care the objects I was - discovering.  For me it was like being Indiana Jones in some far off temple finding priceless artifacts of some other world. They were to be treated with care and respect.  Like Indian Jones however... there was always that element of danger lurking behind every corner... mostly Grandma who would firmly remind us when we'd present her with what we had found that: "you didn't find it, I PUT IT THERE."

Today my Uncle Vinny (whose room we routinely explored) turns 50.  Yesterday I became acutely aware that a new generation was beginning to explore the world as they knew it and using their imaginations to conjure exciting and fantastic adventures where we adults see only boxes and clutter.  Though I will still hold my breath the next time the kids come to visit -- praying that my own treasures survive their excursions as I'm sure my Uncle and Grandma did for us - I marvel at their imaginations and curiosity and remember back to a time when even a trip down to Grandma's basement could become the adventure of a lifetime!

Pre-Lenten Season

As a Catholic, I have always found Lent to be an extraordinary time of the year for me spiritually.  It is a time of self reflection, prayer and sacrifice in preparation for the time when we remember the ultimate sacrifice Christ made of himself on the cross as well as his Resurrection - which is the highest feast day on our calendar.  Even the seasons in which Lent and Easter occur seem to echo the meaning of these observances -- going through the final days of the  darkness and death of winter (Lent) while looking forward to the light and new birth of spring (Easter).

For "Traditional" Catholics like me (those of us who observe the customs and forms of worship prior to the changes made in the 1960s following Vatican II), Lent begins a bit more gradually than it does in the current Liturgical books -- still beginning officially on Ash Wednesday, but with a time of introduction known as the Sundays of Septuagesima, Sexagesima and Quinquagesima.

These Sundays loosely translated refer to 70, 60 and 50 days before Easter -- Lent being the 40 days of official penance and fasting in preparation for Easter.  Obviously they are not exact number of days, but the idea is that this season is so important that we enter into it gradually to prepare ourselves for the journey ahead which officially commences on Ash Wednesday.

 I always found the names of these Sundays to be just plain cool -- terminology in the older Rite always sounds so much more profound. I do admit however, that my immature American mentality does at times giggle at hearing the term Sexagesima -- and don't pretend you didn't too upon reading it.  It's ok -- as staunchly traditional as I am when it comes to the Liturgy, I think God has a sense of humor too and giggles occasionally Himself.

In the 1970s when a small group of Church officials decided to "modernize" things (that usually never ends up being a really good thing...) they wanted to stream line everything -- make it "simpler" and easier to understand.  This approach in and of itself confuses me -- we live in an age of smart phones and Google where any question can be answered by simply typing it into your phone.  This would be THE TIME then to dig deeper into such subjects, not keep them at a bare-minimum level of presentation or understanding.

This "simplification" also applied to other major feasts where the preparation and conclusion of these feasts were either scaled back or eliminated. -- Octaves after holidays are hardly heard of anyway -- meaning celebrating the feast for 8 days after the actual day -- giving people a time to reflect and enjoy the feast day.  Americans are awesome at practicing "simplifications" like this --- as noted by Christmas tress out to the curb on December 26th.

It saddens me that there is still a movement in the Church to simplify, simplify, simplify in an effort to make the faith more comprehensible to people.  I believe it has had the opposite effect -- we've watered things down so much that they no longer seem important at all.   Lent for example seems to mean little more to main stream Catholics than wearing ashes on your forehead to work/school on Ash Wednesday, enjoying fish fries on Fridays and maybe giving up something during Lent that you really didn't like anyway - and not understanding why you're giving up anything to begin with.

Personally, I think the Church would be far more effective if it simplified it's social teachings and went back more to the fullness of its spirituality.  Welcoming more diversity of peoples and better understanding their circumstances while worshiping in the amazing and inspiring living traditions of our ancestors passed down through the ages --- rather than white washing everything yet sticking to hard line social teachings that never seem to get updated or simplified.

*gets off soapbox*

By the way -- this Sunday is Sexagesima Sunday.  *giggles*

Lack of communication....

     Not having cable in a few years, I watch a lot of shows online.  I love it - with the right programs like Netflix, you can watch what you want when you want.  Recently I set up an HBOgo account and have been re-watching the series, Sex in the City.

     I wasn't a fan of the show when it started but the first guy I dated really got me hooked on it.  One of the few good things to come from that relationship.  Curling up on the sofa with Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha has been like getting in touch with some old friends.

     Actually, it's the friendship between these women that I find fascinating.  They live their own lives yet are so interconnected with one another.  As many friends as we can say we have on Facebook, how many of us actually have friendships like these women?

     Each television series is a glimpse into the time period in which they were created.  Sex in the City isn't really that old of a show, yet so much has changed.  The most striking thing I notice when I watch this show is how much the girls talk to each other on the phone.  Think about it... how often do you really have a long conversation on the phone anymore?  Probably not often... or at least not as often as you did a decade ago.

     My friend Katie and I were just discussing this in the break room the other day.  We all know someone who is the exception -- that person who is ALWAYS talking on their cell, usually in public where we don't want to hear their conversation. For most of us though, we don't gab on the phone anymore -- it's all texting.   I find it much easier to send a simple text message and get a reply than picking up the phone and engaging someone in conversation.  Though I admit this about myself, I must also admit that it is... well... wrong.

     Texting certainly has its advantages but it has also weakened our own communication skills (not to mention devolving our spelling and use of the English language).  People don't know how to TALK to one another or even hold a conversation.  People are so used to texting back and forth ALL DAY with what might amount to a few paragraphs of text - but put them on the phone and the conversation comes to a screeching halt within two minutes.  What intimidates us about a telephone call?

     Despite my love of classic rotary phones (which I am proud to boast that despite being technology impaired, I can use land-line free on a daily basis via my cell phone - thanks to a miraculous bluetooth router), I rarely actually use the phones.  I think I dust them more than I actually talk with them.  Except for calls to and from my Mom, my phone rarely rings.  To be honest, I'd love to have friends who aren't just close like Carrie and the girls when hanging out at a restaurant or enjoying drinks, but who gab on the phone from time to time... just to check in... sharing the laughs and the warmth of a human voice across the miles.  

     Don't you miss that too?  

     Still, as much as I lament chatting on the phone... if it were to ring right now, the first thing that would pop into my head would be - "why the hell are they calling me?".   -- I'll have to work on that and maybe "reach out and touch someone" more often.  

Merry! Merry!

I was surprised how many people commented in Christmas cards I received that they wanted to see my blog revived.  I have decided to merge my passion for journal writing with my blog - so you will notice a change.

I have become obsessed with using my old typewriter - and have made the switch to journaling exclusively via typewriter.  I find the use of such a machine to be very relaxing and creative - and just love to sit down and hear the clickity-clack of the typebars hitting the paper.  

I can no longer writer out journals "long hand" - after years of writing essays, I find it difficult to write long entries in a standard journal - so now my typed pages go into a binder for safe keeping.  

Why not just use the computer??  Too many distractions..I can never complete my thought process.  "Ooo.. I have mail! -- Gee.. I wonder if I can find that on Ebay.... What's on Netflix?".  With the typewriter, my thoughts flow freely and uninterrupted.  There is some sort of romantic and magical thought process that occurs when using one of these machines... so basically, it inspires me to write!!

The few stories and entries I would like to share with my cyber audience will be scanned and posted here.  I apologize in advance for several things (hahaha!):

- Poor scan quality.  My printer/scanner needs to be replaced.

- My formatting - I use a 1941 typewriter -- you hit a key, it's on paper -- formatting was always too complicated for me to properly understand and control.

- Type quality.  My typewriter needs to be cleaned -- years of typing have gunked up the typebars (what prints the letters on the paper) and I have been too lazy to properly clean them with denatured alcohol. -- I hope to have a "new" machine in the near future that will have been cleaned, restored and serviced by a qualified typewriter professional -- yes, they do still exist!!  Bear with me as I continue to use the unserviced and uncleaned model in the mean time (doesn't do that badly for not being serviced in over 40 years!)

- Grammar and spelling.  There is no spell check - no delete key on a typewriter...though I do end up using a LOT of correction tape. These entries are raw thoughts -- right from my mind to the paper via my fingers and the machine. I do not go back to proof read for spelling and grammar (I'd have to type the WHOLE thing over again to correct mistakes).  I actually find it liberating to sit down and just get the ideas on paper in tangible form without red lines under my words or going back and deleting entire paragraphs.   -- I do often cringe as I go back and re-read what I typed... my mind works faster than my fingers and it often shows in the final result!

I hope you enjoy these observations and stories - and I hope you can read them clearly enough through the scan and through my typos and errors  :)  Thanks for following my blog!!!

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Below is a short story about what Christmas was like for my Grandmother, Helen Trasciatti-Doxbeck who grew up in Hilldale (Plains) Pennsylvania during the great depression.  

A Tribute to a Friend

My blog is pretty much defunct – keeping it activated more as an archive of my past thoughts rather than use for current blogging, but I wanted to revive it for at least one additional entry.

Today I attended the funeral of my best friend, Anne Reed. She has been my dearest friend, closest confidant and “adopted Grandmother” for the past 15 years.  I am honored that she considered me part of her amazing family.

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We met when we were both Religious Education teachers at the now closed parish of St. Joseph's in North Tonawanda. She taught the 8am classes and I taught the 10am classes, so we only saw each other in passing.

It wasn't until the Religious Ed. Christmas party that I met her formally and got to know her. We sat next to each other at the dinner and clicked instantly – though over the years as we'd reminisce, neither of us could recall many details about the actual event.... we'd joke that we'd both blocked out the details... but it just seemed to take off from there!

Anne passed away at the age of 84 – when I met her I was 15 and she was 69. What on Earth made two people from across the age spectrum become such good friends?? She was perpetually young at heart while I was born with the soul of a 90 year old... so we basically balanced each other out and met in the middle.

Over the years I got to know Anne's husband Vince and her immediate family including her sisters, children and grandchildren very well. Anne always had an open door policy so you never knew who was going to stop by when you went over for a visit. Her home was some times as busy as Grand Central Station with folks going in and out.. stopping by to say hello and to share a laugh. It was one of the things I loved about going there – the door was always open and all were welcomed.

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Anne taught me many things over the years and was the only soul brave enough to be able to teach me how to drive. I had a few brief experiences behind the wheel of a car that never lasted more than a few blocks – and a deep fear of driving – hearing all the stories about teenagers getting into accidents and the high cost of insurance – all the things our parents tell us when they don't want their own insurance costs going through the roof. So, unlike most teenagers.. I dragged my feet getting a license until the summer after I graduated High School.

I'll never forget the day Anne picked me up for a driving lesson. She and Vince had just gotten a brand new Buick Century (part of why I love Buick so much).. came to my house.. tossed me the keys and then got into the passenger seat. I sat behind the wheel of the car when she informed me my first task was to take her up to the Riviera theater here on Webster Street in North Tonawanda.. one of those old town streets that have parking where you have to back in and out of your space into on-coming traffic rather than just pulling up alongside the curb. Anything out of my neighborhood could have been the equivalent of the Lincoln Tunnel to my nerves. I looked over at her asking, “Are you serious?”. She laughed and told me, “You can't drive around the block all your life. A car is just a piece of metal.. if something happens, it happens.” My Grandpa later asked her if she had a death wish.

A few years later I couldn't wait to call her and tell her of my experience driving the actual Lincoln Tunnel and the streets of Manhattan – something I never want to do again mind you – but something I did because I could! Each summer since I have thanked her for giving me the courage to have faith in my own abilities and giving me that one vital key to independence and adulthood... and I'm very glad I never killed her while obtaining that key (there were close calls).

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As I grew older she moved away from being just the Grandmotherly figure and we became closer and closer – staying up into the wee hours of the night sharing our deepest concerns, what weighed on our hearts, and of course laughing – all the while consuming numerous pots of tea while her husband Vince passed out in the chair, comatosed from our endless chatter.

Anne lived for her family and got her wish of having a large one. She raised 6 wonderful children, a whole slew of grandchildren and even great-grandchildren whom she adored. She lived for kids!

Knowing she had the life she always wanted.. filled with family and friends, I had asked her once before what she would have done differently with her life should she do it over again. She told me she had always wanted to be some sort of counselor or social worker – helping people with their problems. When she was growing up, women were regulated to “pink collar jobs” like nurse, teacher or secretary... so the option for something outside the home didn't seem very real in those days - not that the opportunity for such work would have made her pass up the chance for the big family of which she always dreamed of having (It's not a coincidence Donna Reed and Anne shared the same last name).

I always reminded Anne that she really was a counselor to every person who came through her door who needed someone to listen to them or just be there. No, she didn't have a fancy degree or letters after her name – her kitchen was her office and a cup of tea/coffee along with a damn good laugh were her treatments of choice. I am one of the many many people who benefited from this therapy – and now, as I lament her passing – think of how it was she who'd I'd call just in times like these because I knew she'd be there for me.

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Anne was quite the avid collector – not of commemorative spoons of shot glasses, but of people. She collected them everywhere she went and always took them into her heart. She had a way of making everyone feel so welcomed and at home in her house – in fact, she is the reason I am such a stickler for the little formalities when I have company come to call – always do it up nice... the little things mean a lot – always a cup and saucer (“my mother would be so ashamed if she could see me not serving tea using a cup and saucer!” she'd always remind me – it became a running gag if occasionally we'd use the pedestal mug instead of the china). People were worth the extras – they deserved to be treated special in her book.

Her faith in God proved to be a constant inspiration to me – especially as I struggled with my own faith so much over the years. She would often comment that she wished she was more “scholarly” in her faith (though she certainly knew more than the average Catholic) – but she had what really mattered... a genuine and sincere love of Christ and His Church within her heart... and SHARED that love with others. Though I could give you an in-depth history of the different Liturgical acts and share some insights about various Church counsels... I always seemed to be asking more questions when she simply lived by the motto: “Thy will be done”.

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I have been to enough funerals in my life to know when someone dies.. they are automatically proclaimed a saint by those who knew them... even those who weren't well liked. In Anne's case, I think the personal canonization is fitting – for she is one of the rare and genuine examples of Christian “caritas” or love/charity that I have ever encountered. Not just going to Church on Sundays but living the message of the Gospels every day of her life. I know with all of my heart, when she approached the gates of paradise, she was greeted with open arms: “Well done, good and faithful servant”.

People of Anne's generation – and young fogeys like myself - are always lamenting that “they don't make things like they used to”. The quality is gone, the craftsmanship is gone, the pride is gone. The same can be said of people: “they don't make em like they used to”. Anne was a classic for certain and a reminder of the best humanity has to offer – kindness, compassion, empathy, true class and grace.

I will miss her infectious laughter and sense of humor – those long talks and that opened door of hers. I carry her in my heart and have become a better person for having known her these 15 years. I hope that in my own way I can take the lessons I have learned from Anne to be a better person and share the love she so generously shared with me.