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Memories of a Coffee Drinker

    I  didn't start drinking coffee until I left home. My mother would have been the first to admit that brewing coffee wasn't her forte. She only pulled out the percolator for parties when, by the time coffee was being served, the guests were too drunk to care. Day to day, Mum and Dad drank instant. Weak instant. I didn't start drinking coffee until a friend brewed up camp coffee you could practically stick a spoon up in. Did I enjoy it? Not really. But it hit a spot, on a cold north Alberta night, that needed hitting.  But there's another reason I might have been hesitant to drink coffee. When I was growing up, we had a station wagon that had a mattress fitted to the back for my sister and I to lie out on. I do mean fitted. It was shaped around the wheel wells. Dad made it for a camping trip to Mexico the winter my sister and I had Whooping Cough. Later we'd use the mattress to go on long trips and to go to the drive-in. Back then you paid per car and there were n

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