I love Starbucks coffee.  And by that I mean the medium Pike Place Roast.  I like it that Starbucks is everywhere for the reason that chains make sense.  I can walk into a Starbucks in Miami or Boston or Omaha or Seattle and get the same coffee.  Except that Starbucks is getting weird on me.  I forgave them for the obnoxious Italian sizes (I always just order in English) and I forgave them for their ridiculous coffee drink menu (halfwhipskimlatteblahblah).  I could always get a dependable cup of coffee quickly.

And then this summer they started the "blonde" coffee thing - what the fuck?!  You want light coffee?  Add some half and half to it like East Coast people.  I thought the pumpkin mocha chai (or whatever that shit is that isn't coffee) was the problem, but I think now that it really started downhill with the "blonde" roast coffee.

And all of a sudden I sometimes have difficulty getting Pike Place Roast.  You know, the ORIGINAL coffee.  The one they are KNOWN for.

I used to be able to walk in, order a medium Pike Place and be out of there before the skimwhipmocha lady's drink was even started.  But several times now I am told, "I'm sorry.  We don't have any of that brewed."

What the fuck, Starbucks?  You're losing me here.  I get that you make more money off the other shit, but your heart and soul, your BASIS was always your Pike Place Roast (which I LOVE).  I defended you against all my friends who rail about you.  I resolutely carry my Starbucks mug (in ceramic so I don't have to touch plastic with my lips! I love it!) and get it refilled many times a week.

I'm about ready to carry my Starbuck's mug into the local coffee shop and try to figure out which organic/green/fair trade blend is a medium roast.  Mother fucker.  Can I just get a coffee around here?

The thing about visiting old people is that you can't like anything.  Because if you say anything they just give it to you.  The kids and I visited my Grandma (93 years old) over the weekend and I ended up with a sack of 1950s Vogue patterns, a box of green crystal glasses (they were literally in her cupboard last night - she rolled them in newspaper and boxed them up for me this morning despite my protests), my son ended up with the rest of the apple strudel and my daughter was given the necklace off her body.  "That's a cool necklace," my daughter commented.  It was immediately draped over her head.  I was given a diamond necklace that I am trying not to think about too much.

"Make a list of the things you want, Lea Anne.  No promises, but I want to know what you want so you will remember me."  I was tearing up.

It's corny, but sheesh, how could I ever forget her?  I can't even post any of this on Facebook because she's ON Facebook.  She gave me the diamond necklace because she saw that I lost a necklace last week.  (I posted about it on Facebook.)  I don't want anything, of course, I just want my grandma.  She spans my entire memory - always in that house, in that kitchen, still mixing biscuits on her counter and talking to her dog and sitting in her favorite chair.  She brews coffee and reads the paper and holds her own in any conversation.

We had a nice visit.  She has been sorting letters and cards.  It was fun to look through those things with her.  We went through her college yearbook and she shared stories about her childhood and young adult hood.  She and I both laughed about how quickly time passes.  We helped her with some house and yard chores.  She told the kids stories.  "Your mom used to like to stand on her head between the bean plants.  All I could see were her feet sticking out above the plants."  She enlisted the kids to help her put mulch on her roses.  "Doc gave me that plant," she said, referring to her husband.  "He's been dead, what, 45 years?"  She seemed surprised that it had been that long since she was widowed.  The mud triggered a memory of playing in the road ruts in  front of her grandparents' house after the rain.  "Nes and I pretended we were alligators," she chuckled.  In the span of 5 minutes she had memories of 35 years ago, 45 years ago and 85 years ago.  All memories are sharp for her.

There is so much that is striking about her.  She has one of the sharpest minds I have ever known.  She is delightful to spend time with and a wonderful hostess.  (I hear her struggling to move around the kitchen and I know that she will not take my help with everything, so instead of trying to take over I try to help.  I know that she will mix biscuits as long as she is breathing, so I don't fight that, instead I get the jelly and set the table.)

How many times have I eaten biscuits at that table?  I couldn't even tell you.  But I know that I will never forget her biscuits, and I bet my kids won't either.