As I sit here in the quiet of the beginning of my day I’m reminded of my Dad commenting on the coffee being good. Almost every morning he’d say this ‘good coffee’ to my Mom. He loved my Mom’s coffee, mainly because he didn’t have to make it. Their coffee was ready when they got up since the invention of the timed coffee maker. Today I’m reminded of the time when Dad made coffee so strong I could feel colors. We were in Florida camping in my parents RV in October of 2016 when Dad made a pot of afternoon coffee. Mom had bought Folger’s perfect measure disks. A full pot called for 5 of them and used so many a third of the disks were still intact. Mom and I ran some errands while Dad partook in his daily required nap. When he woke up, he must have needed an extra kick in the caffeine department and filled the container up to the top with the disks. When we got back Dad was waiting for us and pleased with himself for making that pot of coffee for us. Mom said it made her eyes cross and I could feel the hair growing on my legs, but that was ‘good coffee’.