When I was a teenager, we&#39;d go up into the mountains in Arkansas and stay with family in their log cabin. That cabin was built by hand by my Uncle and didn&#39;t have the best insulation, so on cold mornings during Winter Break, when I got up, my Mama would hand me an old fashioned tall plastic cup of hot coffee. She and my aunt made it in an old metal percolator on the wood stove. Sitting there with a hand made quilt over my knees, watching Mama and Aunt Gin fix breakfast, my hands wrapped around that perfectly warm cup was a little slice of heaven. I could smell the wood smoke in the steam of the coffee, and taste the love they added to every pot. Thirty years later, my Mama is gone now, but those cold winter morning plastic cup coffees have always been the very best I ever had. <br /><br />Janece<br />kariteimo(at)gmail(dot)com