The Newark Keurig

When I was young I was very sentimental. Then I went through a time where I didn't believe I was sentimental at all. Now I wonder if I've come a little more than full circle. I'm starting to think I'm too sentimental.

This all started with the Keurig I bought in a flea market in Newark, Ohio, where some of my kids live. I have it up at The Shop, where I use it nearly every day. And I've begun, in my own mind anyway, to refer to it as my Newark Keurig.

Perhaps that doesn't sound all that bad. Yet it's reached a point where I almost get misty eyed while watching it brew a cup of coffee. "Yep, that's my Newark Keurig, the one I bought while in Ohio visiting my family," I think as I await my morning starter.

It's a silly thing, almost an affectation. Would it be a little less silly if I mentioned that I often drink coffee from it out of the Newark Catholic mug I bought at the same time? Yes, I call it my Newark Catholic mug. But it says as much right on the side, so that's not all me.