The rain started earlier. It is supposed to rain on and off through Tuesday. I’m just fine with that. I intend to loll round and give my sloth full rein. I woke up with a cold. My nose is stuffy, my voice hoarse and every now and then I cough just to add to the misery. The dogs are my role models. They are sleeping on the couch, one on each side of me. I just put on a sweatshirt, first time this season.

I am giving Dunkin’ a second chance. Yesterday my latte was black, bitter and filled with bottom grounds. Today I am ordering just regular coffee and a donut. I can’t remember the last time I had a donut. They were a Sunday treat when I was a kid. My father used to buy them at the Quaker donut shop at four corners. He was a plain donut man who slathered the top of his donut with butter. Mostly he bought glazed and jelly for the rest of us. When they moved off cape, Dunkin’ became the donut stop. My father would head there after he had finished his usher duties at the early mass. I always asked for a butternut donut. He never remembered.

Most families have rituals. My family certainly did. Many of them were centered around holidays, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas. Sunday was the only day of the week with a ritual, the family dinner. It was always far more elaborate than weeknight suppers. A roast was center stage. My favorite was roast beef. My mother cooked it medium with barely any red. That has stayed with me. I don’t like red meat. For dinner there were always mashed potatoes. My mother used a hand masher and seldom left any lumps. Back then there were few fresh vegetables available. We’d have corn or peas or sometimes green beans. My father loved canned asparagus. My mother only bought a small can as none of the rest of us ate it. My father usually cut the meat in the kitchen as there was little room on the table. My mother made the best gravy. It was thick and a deep brown. It went on my meat and potatoes. I loved that dinner so much was it was the last dinner my mother made for me before I left for Ghana.

Here is the Dunkin’ update. My coffee never arrived. The Grubhub driver called and asked if I was beside some store. I said no. I told her I lived in a house on a street with houses. That wasn’t what the app said she told me. I said the app was wrong. She said no. I guess I’m living in the wrong place. She posted a picture of where my coffee had ended up. It was in front of some industrial garage. Grubhub suggested I ride around to find the coffee. I didn’t as I didn’t recognize the garage. Grubhub refunded my money and added $5.00. I really miss my morning coffee.

This entry was posted on October 12, 2025 at 1:55 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments.

Tags: coffee, Dunkin', family, grubhub, rituals, Sunday dinner