We were talking about waitresses, the ones who call you honey, the ones who wear a blouse they pressed the night before, the ones who have a pencil behind their ear and their names are Mary Alice and Sheila, the ones who carry five plates of strawberry waffles on one arm and still stop at your table to warm you up on the way. The ones who pour that coffee over the lip and into your mug like a waterfall and their precision and grace and whatever-it-is-they-do that you can’t name pours over you, makes you say two eggs over easy, toast biscuits gravy and salt of the earth, the ones who set things right day after day.

America’s Test Kitchen rated the Moccamaster the most consistently perfect cup of coffee, brewing at the right temperature and the optimal rate. Mornings I pour in filtered water, grind beans, press the button, close my eyes. I see red Formica tables, checkerboard-checkered floors, newspaper sections and stainless steel. Napkins, ketchup. Pies. Retired guys slapping backs taking a seat at a large table. I open my eyes and I’m Sheila, I’m Mary, I’m Alice, I’m wearing a pressed blouse, brushing hair off my face with the back of my forearm, pouring my own crooked waterfall over the lip into my sturdy cup with its sturdy handle and I say to myself, honey.

Jeanie Tomasko lives in Middleton with her husband, Steve, two overstuffed cats and one dog who is very happy that she just retired in June and can throw more balls now.