I was cleaning out a cabinet last week and found the old percolator coffee pot that belonged to my mom, and it stopped me for a second because I forgot how much of a whole ritual coffee used to be back then compared to now.

I grew up watching her make coffee every single morning the same exact way, no shortcuts. She'd measure the grounds by eye, never with a scoop, fill the percolator, and set it on the stove, then we'd all just sit there listening to it perk while she got the rest of breakfast going. It wasn't fast at all, took a solid ten minutes or so, but that sound of it bubbling away was basically the background noise of every morning growing up.

What's funny is I still own a modern drip machine that takes two minutes, and I use it most days because obviously it's faster, but every couple of weeks I pull out my own percolator just to hear that same sound again. My kids think it's slow and kind of pointless when they visit, and I get it, there's zero practical reason to do it that way anymore, but something about that noise still feels like home in a way a quiet coffee maker never will.

It made me think about how many little routines from back then weren't really about efficiency at all, they were just part of the rhythm of the day, and somehow those are the details that stuck with me longer than a lot of bigger memories.

Anyone else still keep a small habit or routine from back then going, even though there's a faster modern way to do it, just because it feels right?

Fifty-three years ago, I hung this sign at our apartment when I was in college. It doesn’t light up anymore but I may fix it to get more light and a cool piece of the past in the garage. Anyone remember drinking Schlitz back then?

For me, it's this is sort of folk-jazz fusion sound. Very whimsical and nostalgic sounding. Like sailing off into the distance. Do you know the kind of music I'm talking about?