My friend Meghan gave me a travel mug and bag of coffee, both of them from The Mill in Lincoln, Nebraska. She read another blog entry about my new favorite coffee spot here in Chicago and wants to make sure that I don't forget my roots. I must say-when I brew the coffee from The Mill, there is no forgetting my roots. You all know those old favorite smells. The ones that wrap you up in vivid memories. The smell of The Mill's coffee picks me up and plops me right back down into adolescence. Back to those excellent days when we all were certain that we were finally mature and righteous adults. The smell takes me back to pushing curfew for the sake of talking about that boy for just ten minutes longer and to life's first caffeine rushes. When I'm smelling coffee from The Mill I'm with friends jumping onto a train that's humming through the depot, I'm dressed up for the homecoming dance a little nervous, walking through the Old Haymarket to a restaurant near The Mill, I'm visiting my brother Drew in his first apartment around the corner, I'm about to get married and even though our wedding reception is in a coffee joint, I traipse over to The Mill for a taste of things that never change. Ah, yes. Thanks, Meghan, for the gift and for the trip I took from our little apartment here in Chicago this morning.
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