I have coffee with my Grandpa Ardell and Grandpa Fritz every Sunday morning. I don’t have Miss Cleo on speed-dial, I’m not neighbors with the Long Island Medium, nor do I hold séances or hover over a Ouija board. I simply pour a cup of coffee, look towards the north, hoist the cup once in my left hand and once in my right, and let thoughts of them rise up with the warm, gentle swirl of steam coming from my cup. Black coffee with two heaping spoonful of fond memories.

The cup is not actually mine, it was my Grandpa Ardell’s. It’s a souvenir cup that was sold by St. Mary’s church during the 1982 Lignite Diamond Jubilee. Some of you most likely have one amongst the menagerie of coffee cups we seem to acquire through the years. One side of the cup has a picture of St. Mary’s church, which includes the brick bell holder that my Grandpa Fritz made. This one cup covers a lot of bases and effectively conjures up a lot of memories.

That church was where my parents were married, my siblings and I baptized, and my brother and I not-so-willingly served as altar boys. Its basement is where we attended catechism, partook in more potlucks than you can shake one of Marlene Schmidt’s delicious finger sandwiches at, and attempted to be “wise” and “men” while wearing dresses in the Christmas pageant.

The part of Joseph was a speaking part, and was reserved for someone they could trust to stick to the script and only say what was supposed to be said. Our mom was one of the catechism teachers, so my brother and I were not on the short-list for that part. Casting us as the silent wise men was an attempt to shut us up for about 15 minutes a year. Our mother’s gift to herself, and a true Christmas miracle.

That church is also where I broadcast my first, and last, live performance of Elvis Presley’s hit “Hound Dog”. As an altar boy I was privy to how to access, and crank up, the church sound system. My classmate, Travis Chrest, the only fan in attendance, and who also happens to be the one that bet me fifty cents that I wouldn’t do it, enjoyed the brief show immensely. Our catechism teacher, apparently not a big fan of “The King”, pulled the plug on the whole production before I got to the second verse.

All of these memories from a simple coffee cup. I’m not suggesting we spend an inordinate amount of time living in the past, shutting ourselves out from the present, but rather just setting aside a few minutes here and there to tune into those “golden oldies” and enjoy that station that is unique to each of us. I guess that coffee cup is my amplifier, it helps me see and hear all those memories a little louder and a bit clearer.

I speak and write of them often, their influence is ever present. My Grandpa Ardell’s entertaining “gift of gab”, my Grandpa Fritz’s preference for the solitude of his woodshop. Two sides of the same cup.