Morning Coffee: A Cast of Characters

October 16, 2026October 11, 2026Benjamin2 Comments

Look I probably should have told you this before but you see…

well…

insanity runs in my family…

October 16, 2026

With a cast on my leg, I have been glued to my chair. Naturally, that has left me glued to the television while also glued to the screen of my Apple MacBook Pro, swiping through my iPhone, and tapping my Apple Watch to see what it has to tell me.

vintage coffee and pocket watch on lace table — _{^{Photo by Rahime Gül on Pexels.com}}

Usually, it tells me something the other two devices have already announced.

I have an entire electronic staff keeping me informed, and apparently none of them communicate well enough to realize the position has already been filled.

My watch reminds me to stand. My leg reminds me that we need to discuss that first.

Somewhere between notifications, I remember to change the television channel, arrange a trip to the bathroom, and remind Steve that dinner will eventually be necessary. He may prepare it or call it in. His choice. I am trying to be an agreeable patient.

You would have to ask him how that is going.

Meanwhile, Otis, our Jack Russell Terror—excuse me, Terrier—is tearing through the house with enough energy to power all these devices. Doppler radar would struggle to track him. By the time it registered his location, he would have completed another lap and accused somebody of sitting in his chair.

If you know, you know.

One unexpected benefit of this enforced sitting has been a fresh look at movies I have watched many times before.

During some of those earlier viewings, I rolled my eyes. I knew the dialogue, the entrances, the misunderstandings, and what was coming next. Quite often, I was watching alongside a sick relative during the final stretch of their life. Those familiar movies seemed to offer comfort, and we let them play.

At the time, I thought I was simply keeping somebody company.

camera beside white mug — ^{_{Photo by Wendy Wei on Pexels.com}}

Looking back, there was more to it. A familiar voice on the television. A story that asked very little of us. The quiet reassurance of another person sitting nearby.

Now Steve is beside me while I recover, and there is something familiar about that arrangement. Thankfully, I expect to get out of this chair eventually. Steve probably expects that even more enthusiastically.

For now, I have a cast on my leg and have developed a renewed appreciation for the cast on the screen.

Today’s selection was Arsenic and Old Lace, with Cary Grant, whom I have long admired. He was quite a catch then. As far as I am concerned, he would be quite a catch today.

Grant plays Mortimer Brewster, a drama critic whose outspoken objections to marriage have become somewhat inconvenient: he has just married Elaine, played by Priscilla Lane.

That should be enough excitement for one afternoon. Unfortunately, he has relatives.

His aunts, Abby and Martha, played by Josephine Hull and Jean Adair, are sweet, gracious, and devoted to making lonely gentlemen comfortable.

A little too permanently comfortable.

Their hospitality involves elderberry wine with ingredients you would not want included in the family cookbook.

Then there is Mortimer’s brother Teddy, played by John Alexander, who believes he is Theodore Roosevelt. Most families have somebody who dominates a gathering. The Brewsters have somebody prepared to lead a charge through it.

And just when Mortimer’s afternoon seems sufficiently complicated, his brother Jonathan arrives, played by Raymond Massey, accompanied by Peter Lorre as Dr. Einstein.

Jonathan is the sort of relative whose arrival makes you wish you had left for your honeymoon several hours earlier.

The whole thing is wonderfully frantic and ghoulishly delightful, especially this time of year. Cary Grant spends much of it trying to bring reason into a household where reason apparently moved out years ago.

Watching it again, I found myself enjoying the expressions, the timing, and the sheer absurdity of it all. Knowing what happens next gives you time to notice how beautifully they get you there.

Perhaps that is part of the pleasure of returning to an old movie. We bring a different day, a different mood, and a few more years of living to the same familiar story.

This time, I brought a cast, several opinionated Apple devices, a husband on dinner duty, and a dog traveling at the speed of poor judgment.

The Brewster household suddenly seemed almost manageable.

So pour yourself another cup, folks. There is still plenty of enjoyment to be found in an old picture and the company beside you.

But if somebody offers you homemade elderberry wine, you might ask to see the recipe.

I’ll stick with coffee.

Signature of Benjamin Groff with copyright notice and website information.

The taglines as posted from reviews in newspapers in the 1940s read:

She Passed Out On Cary ! No Wonder . . . She’s just discovered his favorite aunts have poisoned their 13th gentleman friend !
I’ll knock your block off, you big stiff! You’re a bum!
Strike. You’re out!
WARNER SHOW OF THE YEAR! BEATS THE STAGE PLAY BY 500 LAUGHS AND 5000 SHIVERS! (Print Ad- New York Sun, ((New York, NY)) 31 August 1944)
HERE IS A LAFF RIOT IF EVER THERE WAS ONE (Print Ad- Philadelphia Inquirer, ((Philadelphia, Penna.)) 28 January 1945)
YOU Don’t SCREAM You Just ROAR! (Print Ad- Evening Recorder, ((Amsterdam, NY)) 1 December 1944)
Something Screwy IS GOING ON! Cary and Priscilla are aghast when Aunts Abby and Martha prepare to slip arsenic into the wine of their 13th victim! (Print Ad-Warsaw Daily Union, ((Warsaw, Ind.)) 24 February 1945)

Now if reviews on my own content would just measure up!

Morning Coffee -–– The Habana: Behind The Laughter

October 14, 2026October 9, 2026Benjamin2 Comments

“Within an hour and a half everyone was a ten!”

October 14, 2026

This morning’s coffee takes us back to a time long ago. If you remember it, good for you. For most of us, there are a few parts missing.

It was a time when the rules were more of a suggestion, and the law was applied with a light touch. I know. I was the one applying it.

Exterior view of Habana Inn, featuring a large sign with palm tree graphics and a welcoming message, surrounded by parked cars and greenery.

So pour yourself a cup, folks. We’re going back to the Habana—where the drinks were strong, the characters were unforgettable, and the details sometimes depended on who was doing the remembering.

It was the early 1980s, and another celebration was underway at the Habana Inn in Oklahoma City. Around that place, it sometimes seemed as though there was something to celebrate every day.

Then came a bomb threat.

Calls went to the hotel and the police and fire departments. The caller provided enough detail to raise serious concerns, and the decision was made to evacuate the property. Shows were taking place that afternoon, and drag queens were everywhere. Hotel employees began directing guests toward a parking lot across from the northeast corner of the hotel.

The manager was a short, feisty man whose name I can no longer recall. He was of retirement age, and he expected people to listen when he spoke. That afternoon, he made his way around the property telling everyone to leave.

Behind the hotel, near the back swimming pool, he encountered a drag queen who wasn’t inclined to follow his instructions.

A view of a swimming pool surrounded by lounge chairs and greenery, with people enjoying the water and sun under a large colorful umbrella.

He explained that there had been a bomb threat and that she needed to evacuate. She refused. They exchanged words. Then the manager pulled out a can of mace and sprayed her.

Her makeup began running down her face, and her reaction left little doubt about how badly it burned. But she wasn’t backing down. She pulled off a high-heeled shoe and took off after him.

Across the street, KOCO-TV had a camera crew filming the evacuation for the evening news. Suddenly, through the hotel’s front entrance came the manager, running for all he was worth. Behind him came the drag queen, makeup ruined, shoe raised overhead, screaming and cussing.

The folks gathered across the street had plenty to say about that unexpected addition to the afternoon’s entertainment. I don’t remember every remark, but the scene hardly needed commentary.

As I recall, a group of bartenders from the Pipeline—which later became the Finish Line—intercepted her and helped the manager reach safety.

For those who witnessed it, that chase became one of the Habana stories that never quite faded. Among those still around to tell it, I imagine it remains as vivid as ever.

But the laughter is only one part of what I remember.

The manager continued working and living at the Habana until he was found dead one morning in Penthouse B, near the back swimming pool.

Questions circulated afterward. Had someone been with him? Had he suffered a heart attack? Had anything else contributed to his death? People offered theories, but I never learned a confirmed explanation.

His would not be the only death I came to associate with that room.

One of the others was a man I knew well: Larry. I keep the last name to preserve the privacy for the family.

Larry was a bail bondsman, a reserve deputy with the Oklahoma County Sheriff’s Office, and the owner of a pawnshop in Del City. You would have been hard-pressed to meet a nicer man.

He also struggled with the distance between who he was and who he believed the world expected him to be. We talked about that. From what I saw, liquor and drugs had become ways for him to cope.

Our friendship did not erase my responsibilities as a police officer. More than once, I told him plainly, “If I ever catch you with drugs, it’s going to be the slammer. I can’t look the other way.”

Then I would get off duty, and we would go browsing through secondhand stores, looking through other people’s discarded treasures.

I sat with him at the Finish Line and had drinks. I also visited him in Penthouse 7, directly above the nightclubs. When the crowds filled the Copa or the Finish Line, you could feel the music through the room: thump, thump, thump. The party downstairs made its presence known upstairs.

Later, Larry moved into Penthouse B.

That room already had a reputation. People said it was haunted, and I didn’t even like going near it. Between Larry’s struggles and my own uneasiness about that room, I feared something would happen. Looking back, that was fear—not knowledge of what lay ahead.

I had been away from the property for a few days. When I returned, the news was everywhere.

They had found Larry.

I was told it appeared he had died in his sleep. I never learned a confirmed cause.

When I think of him now, I remember the man who browsed secondhand stores with me, the conversations we shared, and the kindness that existed alongside his troubles.

There was much more to the Habana than its bars, parties, and penthouses.

Jungle Red was a novelty shop where you could buy gay merchandise, magazines, and items for more private interests. For people exploring a part of themselves they weren’t ready to discuss openly, it offered a place to browse without involving the U.S. Postal Service.

Up a few steps next to the Copa, was a dress shop. Apparently, every respectable gay establishment needed one, and this one offered some impressive selections. If something in the window caught your eye, you asked the attendant at Jungle Red.

Not everyone wanted the pounding music of a nightclub. For those who preferred a quieter evening, there was a martini and piano bar just off the front lobby. It was named the Ledo.

Beside it was a restaurant. Gusher’s. All relating to the Oklahoma Oil Boom. Not the activity taking place at the hotel. I remember the eatery as one of the finest around. On weekends, the place stayed packed well beyond its posted closing time, and it remained busy throughout the week.

A large plate-glass window in the dining room looked south toward the main swimming pool and the surrounding rooms. Guests could sit over a meal and watch people making their way along the walkways above and below.

Naturally, those walks acquired a name: “the walk of shame.”

At the Habana, people sometimes accused others of doing exactly what they had done themselves—at least once, and usually more than twice.

Love stories began there. Others ended there. Sometimes, both happened to the same couple.

It could also be the last place you expected to recognize the handsome athlete from your hometown, especially in circumstances he probably wouldn’t have wanted discussed back in Smallville.

People came out at the Habana. Some did so willingly. Others were recognized before they were ready.

Looking back, I remember the laughter, the music, the friendships, and the freedom people found within those walls. I also remember the loneliness some carried with them, even in the middle of a crowd.

For some, the Habana was a place to spend an evening. For others, it became a home.

And for a few, it was where their lives ended.

For many more, it was where they finally began living as themselves.

A glowing neon sign displaying the word 'TRAMPS' in bright red light.

The Habana was known as the largest gay resort in the southwestern United States. Just off the property stood a bar originally called Saddle Tramps. Over the years, the name was shortened to Tramps, but I always preferred Saddle Tramps. You needed a saddle to ride out whatever you rounded up in there.

The drinks were usually liquor mixed with a drop of chaser. Ask for a whiskey and Coke, and you’d get three-quarters whiskey, a squirt of Coke, and then a little more whiskey—just in case the Coke had weakened it.

Within an hour and a half, every person in the joint was a ten.

The night wasn’t over. There was a dance club up the street called Angles where you could get your head cleared. Before going back to Saddle Tramps for another drink. Then you’d end the evening at the Finish Line or the Copa. At closing time everyone would spill over to the Lobby where they would either go to the restaurant or end up in the yard square and watch the walks of shame, if they were not walking it themselves. In all of this it was a peaceful event. If trouble makers showed up, a group of bears would take care of them. Escorting them off the property. Of course as security, we’d watch to make sure nothing got out of hand.

It was a different time and life was experiencing change. Today, the hotel has changed ownership. There is a book being written on this period. Which I have given written information about the times to the person writing it. I hope those memories live on. Because it was one hell of good time.

A signature of 'Benjamin Groff' accompanied by attribution to Benjamin Groff and GroffMedia, including a website link and copyright information for the year 2026.

When the Campaign Ad Fails the Fact Check

October 13, 2026October 13, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Documented errors & misleading claims in Republican advertising show why political loyalty should never replace verification. Yet, do Democratic advertisings fare any better?

October 14, 2026

An ominous voice. An unflattering photograph. A frightening accusation. Thirty seconds later, the commercial ends—and the impression remains.

But what happens when the photograph shows the wrong person? When an accusation leaves out the timeline? When the study cited in small print does not examine the policy the candidate actually supports?

Those questions deserve attention before the next campaign commercial tells us what to believe.

A political debate scene with a heated exchange between two candidates at podiums, one man accusing the woman of being a 'porker,' while she sarcastically responds, surrounded by an engaged audience. — _{^{Who’s cheating whom? Who’s being true? The accusations fly, the crowd takes sides, and somewhere in the shouting, the truth gets drowned out.
Folks, when we care more about who wins the argument than whether the accusation is true, we’re the ones being fooled.}}

Recent reporting by KJZZ and FactCheck.org documents factual errors and misleading presentations in Republican and Republican-aligned advertising across several states. Some involve outright inaccuracies. Others take genuine statements or events and leave out facts necessary to understand them.

These examples do not establish what candidates privately expected voters to believe or whether they anticipated voters checking their claims. My interpretation is that this kind of advertising gains an advantage when viewers accept its message without examining the evidence.

That is a temptation we should recognize in ourselves. When an accusation fits what we already believe about the other party, it can feel convincing before we have checked a single fact.

In Arizona, an attack ad supporting Republican Rep. Eli Crane targeted Democratic challenger Jonathan Nez. Yet the No Going Back PAC commercial twice displayed photographs of Myron Lizer, Nez’s former vice president—not Nez himself. Lizer is a Republican and Trump supporter.

KJZZ reported the error on October 10 and noted that the images were corrected. That correction matters. So does the fact that an advertisement seeking to discredit a candidate initially failed to identify him correctly. This reporting establishes the photograph error; it does not independently resolve the ad’s underlying spending allegation.

In North Carolina, No Going Back PAC accused Democratic Senate candidate Roy Cooper of allowing approximately 16,000 rape kits to remain untested.

The backlog was real. The presentation of responsibility was misleading.

FactCheck.org reported that the kits were held by hundreds of local law enforcement agencies and had not been submitted to the state laboratory Cooper oversaw as attorney general. A later statewide inventory established the extent of the problem. That leaves room to question whether officials at multiple levels should have done more. It does not justify presenting the evidence as though Cooper personally controlled thousands of kits awaiting testing.

The same advertisement connected Cooper’s pandemic prison settlement to a convicted sex offender who later committed murder. But Jimmie Speight Jr. had completed his prison term before the settlement. His subsequent reinstatement to post-release supervision counted under the agreement, explaining his appearance on its list.

That distinction changes the story. An advertisement about public safety owes voters an accurate timeline, especially when it uses a horrifying crime to assign political blame.

In Pennsylvania and Texas, hospital-closure warnings provided another example.

Congressional Leadership Fund attacked Democrat Janelle Stelson in Pennsylvania’s 10th District with a claim involving up to 25 rural hospital closures. MAGA Inc. attacked Texas Senate candidate James Talarico with a warning involving 30 hospitals.

Both relied on a study assuming a public insurance option would reimburse hospitals at existing Medicare rates. FactCheck.org found that neither candidate had proposed that specific design; Talarico expressly supported higher reimbursement rates.

A study can be real while its use in an advertisement is misleading. Citing research does not establish that its assumptions match the candidate’s proposal.

In Michigan, an NRSC advertisement alleged that Democratic Senate candidate Abdul El-Sayed had advocated abolishing prisons. FactCheck.org found that he had not.

Other attacks drew on genuine earlier statements about shifting police resources and reviewing prison sentences. Those positions are legitimate subjects for scrutiny. But voters also deserve their context and an accurate account of his current platform, which includes investment in law enforcement recruitment, retention and retirement.

These are specific failures by identifiable advertisers. Several ads came from outside political groups, so responsibility should be assigned to the sponsors rather than automatically to the candidates who benefited.

The criticism is straightforward: get the person right, preserve the timeline, represent the proposal accurately, and let the evidence support the accusation.

A party label cannot do that work.

Folks, the commercial that deserves our closest attention may be the one we find easiest to believe. Before repeating it, ask who paid for it, whether the original source says what the advertiser claims, and what information disappeared between the source and the screen.

We do not have to abandon our political convictions to demand honest advertising. We have to insist that those convictions survive contact with the facts.

The Fact Check Cannot Stop at Democratic Party

Democratic campaign advertising deserves the same scrutiny as Republican advertising—and recent examples show why.

It is easy to spot a questionable campaign commercial when it attacks someone we support. The harder test comes when it attacks someone we oppose.

A woman examines documents with a magnifying glass while taking notes, with a laptop displaying a political debate in the background. Papers and a coffee cup are on the table. — _{^{The Fact Checkers Never Stop}}

That is when a frightening accusation can feel like confirmation. We recognize the party label, agree with the message, and move on without checking what was left out.

But an advertisement does not become accurate because it comes from our preferred side.

Recent investigations by FactCheck.org and PolitiFact identify false or misleading claims in advertisements from Democratic candidates and Democratic-aligned organizations in Maine, Iowa, Georgia, Texas and Ohio. The problems vary: an accusation contradicted by the record, a quotation stripped of context, a procedural vote presented without a later substantive vote, or a projection delivered without its qualifications.

These examples do not tell us what candidates privately expected voters to believe. My interpretation is that such advertising benefits when viewers accept a message that fits their political loyalties without examining its evidence.

In Maine, WinSenate, a super PAC supporting Democratic Senate candidates, accused Republican Sen. Susan Collins of helping conceal the Jeffrey Epstein files.

Collins did oppose an amendment attached to a defense bill. That is a real vote and a legitimate subject for criticism. But she subsequently supported the standalone disclosure legislation that passed the Senate by unanimous consent in November 2025.

FactCheck.org found that the advertisements misleadingly presented her record by leaving out that later support.

One ad also characterized a major donor to a pro-Collins super PAC as Epstein’s business partner. Its basis was that Stephen Schwarzman and Epstein were among the founding members of the same private club. That does not, by itself, establish the close business relationship the description suggests.

An advertiser owes voters more than an alarming name and an insinuation.

A separate Maine advertisement from Majority Forward claimed Collins did not believe insider trading should be illegal.

FactCheck.org found that claim false. Collins helped write and pass the 2012 STOCK Act, which affirmed that members of Congress are subject to insider-trading prohibitions.

She opposed a complete congressional stock-trading ban. Critics can challenge that position and the adequacy of existing enforcement. But opposing a blanket trading ban is different from supporting illegal insider trading.

The advertisement blurred that distinction to turn a policy disagreement into a more damaging accusation.

In Iowa, WinSenate attacked Republican Senate candidate Ashley Hinson over the Epstein files.

Hinson had opposed procedural efforts related to disclosure. Yet she voted for the Epstein Files Transparency Act in November 2025, when it passed the House 427–1.

PolitiFact rated the claim that she voted against releasing the files Mostly False because the advertisement omitted her later vote for release.

The advertising also emphasized donors whose names appeared in the files. A name appearing in those records does not, on its own, demonstrate wrongdoing or a close relationship with Epstein.

Voters deserve the complete voting record and evidence proportionate to the accusation.

In Georgia, Democratic Sen. Jon Ossoff’s television ads used a shortened recording of Republican challenger Mike Collins discussing Social Security and returning to the workforce.

The advertisements framed his remarks as a threat to retirees. But PolitiFact found that the full interview concerned making work more financially advantageous through lower taxes. Collins had not instructed retirees to surrender their benefits and get jobs.

There are substantive reasons to examine his policies: he supported measures that experts warned could threaten future benefits. Those concerns deserve accurate discussion.

They do not justify editing a quotation into a message its speaker did not deliver. PolitiFact rated the advertisement’s combined claim Mostly False.

In Texas, Democratic Senate candidate James Talarico’s campaign said Republican Ken Paxton voted to protect puppy abusers.

The underlying vote concerned a 2011 bill increasing the bond required when someone appealed a civil court’s finding of animal cruelty. The measure did not increase penalties for animal abuse itself.

Paxton did not explain his opposition. Other opponents raised concerns about procedural fairness and the cost of appeals.

PolitiFact rated Talarico’s claim Mostly False. A vote about appeal requirements can be criticized on its merits. It does not establish that the lawmaker intended to protect animal abusers.

Ohio supplies a more qualified example.

Democratic Senate candidate Sherrod Brown’s advertisement said Republican Sen. Jon Husted voted to remove 490,000 Ohioans from their healthcare coverage.

PolitiFact found the number broadly consistent with credible estimates of losses from Medicaid changes and the expiration of enhanced Affordable Care Act subsidies. But it was a projection over ten years, subject to implementation and other uncertainties—not a completed count of people already losing insurance.

Husted’s record also included a later proposal to extend the subsidies.

The claim received a Half True rating. It should not be lumped together with an invented accusation. The criticism here concerns missing qualifications and the presentation of uncertainty.

These findings establish specific advertising failures. They do not measure which party misleads more often, and they do not make every claim equally wrong.

Responsibility also matters. Ads purchased by WinSenate or Majority Forward should be attributed to those organizations rather than automatically to the Democratic candidates who might benefit.

The standard should remain consistent: preserve the context, explain the vote, distinguish estimates from established results, and support accusations with evidence.

Folks, our own side should not receive a discount on truth.

Before sharing the commercial that confirms everything we already believe, we should check the original statement, the complete record and the sponsor’s supporting evidence.

Our political convictions may guide our vote. They should never decide which facts we are willing to see.

Signature of Benjamin Groff with copyright information and website link.

Sources

PolitiFact, October 9, 2026

Sources

FactCheck.org, October 1, 2026

FactCheck.org, July 7, 2026

PolitiFact, October 2, 2026

PolitiFact, September 15, 2026

PolitiFact, October 12, 2026

Morning Coffee ––– This Mornings Could Be Mourning Coffee With Such A Writing As I Have For You!

October 11, 2026October 9, 2026Benjamin2 Comments

“I’m Writing A Letter For Daddy”

If You Know The First Words To The Song.

Then You Already Can See The Google-Eyes Of Bette Davis!

October 11, 2026

This morning’s coffee comes with an eye-opener. I hadn’t planned to start the day this way, but the idea landed in my lap last week while I was lying around with a broken right ankle and leg. And—poof!—on came a flick I’ve seen so many times I can practically recite the dialogue: What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?

Apparently, a broken leg wasn’t enough to keep me uncomfortable. Bette Davis had to drop by and finish the job. I can tell you I know “What Ever Happened To Baby Jane!”

A scene from a classic film featuring two women; one sitting in a wheelchair and the other standing with a silver tea service, set in a vintage interior. — *_{^{Joan Crawford as Blanche (left) Bette Davis as Baby Jane (right)}}*

I have watched What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? so many times that I can almost recite the dialogue along with the actors.

I first discovered it late one night while caring for my ailing mother-in-law. I watched it again when my own mother was in similar circumstances, and recently returned to it while recovering from a broken leg. Somehow, this wonderfully unsettling film keeps finding me when I’m already confined to one spot.

Bette Davis plays Baby Jane to perfection. Her performance gets under my skin every time. Joan Crawford, as her sister Blanche, makes you feel the helplessness of being trapped upstairs and dependent on someone increasingly cruel and unpredictable. From the moment Jane claims Blanche’s bird has escaped through the window, you know something is terribly wrong. Before long, you’re worrying that anyone who gets too close—including the neighbors—might meet the same fate as the housekeeper, Elvira.

Then there is the singing. Davis’s strained, childlike rendition of “I’ve Written a Letter to Daddy” makes my skin crawl, yet I still want to hear it. For me, it has the same unsettling, irresistible quality as the Silver Shamrock jingle in Halloween III: Season of the Witch (which, by the way, is our anniversary song—Steve’s and mine) Once it gets into your head, it settles in and refuses to leave.

Although the story includes murder, its final scene relies on something more haunting than a bloody spectacle. That is part of what keeps bringing me back: the performances, the dread, and the feeling that even familiar scenes can still unsettle me.

But I’m left with one thoroughly impractical question: whatever happened to the Baby Jane doll? Can I get one—and, more importantly, will it sing that tune? Apparently, watching the film repeatedly hasn’t disturbed me quite enough.

I say bring it back for this years Christmas sales! Why not reconcile with a symbol of pure craziness. It is in style today. Isn’t it?

Signature of Benjamin Groff with the text 'By Benjamin Groff II GroffMedia© benandsteve.com ©2026'

Morning Coffee: The First Dude

October 8, 2026October 1, 2026Benjamin1 Comment

The First Dude Has Died. And, He‘s Responsible For Over 500 Decendants…

October 8, 2026

Good morning, folks!

man sitting and reading newspaper — _{^{Photo by Anna Keibalo on Pexels.com}}

I read the other day that the First Dude had died. I stopped and looked at that headline twice.

The First Dude?

Was he somebody’s husband? A fellow who insisted on being first in line everywhere he went? Or one of those rascals who walks into a room as though he owns the place?

Was he one of the president’s kids? A former president’s brother? No, neither seemed quite right for a name like First Dude. I thought briefly of Doug Emhoff, Kamala Harris’s husband. He carried himself with enough quiet confidence to pull it off, but he already had a title: Second Gentleman.

The more I read, the more I thought I had him figured out. He was a Florida fellow with a remarkable social life. He had been quite the catch in his younger days and, from all appearances, remained popular for years. His family was enormous. There were 538 youngsters of racing age on the books, though I doubt he remembered every name.

And talk about a family making something of itself: 302 of them became winners. Together, his offspring earned nearly $30 million. That would give anybody at the coffee table something to brag about.

But the First Dude had earned his own reputation long before his children came along. He was a competitor who kept showing up among the best. In 2010, he finished second in the Preakness Stakes and third in the Belmont Stakes. He earned more than $1.4 million during his own racing career.

By now, you may have caught on. The First Dude was a horse.

First Dude, to give him his proper name, was a racehorse and later a stallion at Double Diamond Farm in Florida. He was named Florida Stallion of the Year in both 2017 and 2018. He died at 19.

**^{_{First Dude was a Stud! A Horse’s, Horse!}}**

I began reading with a chuckle over his name. I finished thinking about what it means to leave a mark. First Dude ran his own races, and then a whole new generation carried something of him onto the track.

So raise your coffee cup to the First Dude. He was quite a fellow. And, yes, he really did own a little piece of the place.

Based on reporting by Horse Racing Nation. Photo: Bob Mayberger / Eclipse Sportswire.

Morning Coffee: Climbing the Family Ladder

Featured1 Comment

Sometimes you have to question what your told. This is about abunch of those times.

October 6th, 2026

Good morning, folks!

I thought I would bring you up to date on how I’m doing socially and professionally. Despite doing absolutely nothing, I continue to climb the ladder of success.

Abstract torn-paper collage revealing a glowing geometric grid in blue, gold, and purple

For years, I had cousins in Oklahoma and Arkansas, with a few sprinkled across Texas. I was the adventurous one who made it to Colorado, Wyoming, and Arizona. But now a cousin of mine has moved from Kansas City to Chicago. Technically, he’s my cousin’s son, but he’s only ten years younger than I am, so we’ve never bothered with the fine print.

He lives about twenty floors up. That is a level of upward mobility I could never achieve without an elevator. When I pass through Chicago, I plan to announce that I’m stopping by the penthouse. Whether he actually lives in a penthouse is a detail I’ll leave out.

Did I mention he’s a doctor? Around the café, that earns me another badge of distinction, even though I didn’t attend a single one of his classes.

I’m having fun with it, of course. My cousin’s accomplishments belong to him. But people borrow the shine from someone else’s success all the time. Sometimes it’s harmless bragging over coffee. Sometimes that borrowed shine is used to convince us to trust someone or accept a deal we haven’t looked at closely.

That brings me to a habit I learned as a law enforcement officer, one that has helped me many times since: question what you’re told.

If a story sounds convincing, ask what supports it. If someone claims an impressive connection, find out what that connection actually means. If an offer sounds too good to pass up, take the time to read the terms. You don’t have to be suspicious of everyone. You can simply give yourself room to check the facts before you decide.

Sometimes the evidence confirms the story. Other times, it shows you something quite different.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish my coffee and call my cousin. I have to find out whether I can honestly keep saying “penthouse.”

Morning Coffee: The Cowboy I Knew

October 1, 2026September 24, 2026Benjamin5 Comments

Tell Them Now While It Matters. Tomorrow May Never Come!

October 1, 2026

Good morning, mates!

I thought I’d throw a little English banter into today’s chatter. It seemed fitting while I sat here with a cup of coffee and a recording of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds playing in the background.

Cowboy holding a steaming mug beside a ranch fence at sunset

I record shows when they air and watch them when life gives me a moment. This morning, while the Enterprise traveled through space, my mind wandered back to the days when I was a young chap watching cowboys ride across the television screen.

There was Rawhide, Hopalong Cassidy, and Gene Autry singing his way through the West. I enjoyed them all. But even as a boy, I thought some of those fellows had an easy time of it. The cowboy I knew best had horses to feed, cattle to tend, and work waiting for him whether the cameras were rolling or not.

That cowboy was my dad.

I watched him care for our animals day after day. He was tough, capable, and steady. To me, he was the real thing. He was my hero from the beginning.

What I don’t know is whether I ever told him that clearly enough.

We sometimes assume the people we love already know what they mean to us. Maybe they do. But hearing it from us can still make a difference. A few honest words can stay with someone long after the morning is over.

So while you have your coffee today, think of someone who matters to you. Tell them what you admire about them. Thank them for something they taught you. Let them know that the ordinary things they do have never looked ordinary to you.

You don’t need a grand speech. You just need to say it while they’re here to hear it.

My dad never rode across a television screen. But after all these years, he is still the cowboy I remember best.

Clarence, Mildred, and the Lone Eagle

September 30, 2026September 29, 2026Benjamin8 Comments

You are kidding me, they don’t talk about me like that? Surely… Yes they do. And I can let you listen to it!

September 30, 2026

Good morning, folks.

Winding rural road through mist, viewed from inside a vehicle

I don’t know whether it was an Oklahoma City thing or whether listeners elsewhere heard it, too. In the mid-1980s, I kept my patrol radio tuned to KATT, The Rock 1000. One of my favorite parts of the morning was a voice that came on with a greeting something like, “Hello, babysitters. This is Clarence, and this is the All My Children update.”

Clarence had a deep voice and a gift for recapping the previous day’s soap opera. He would run through the latest goings-on, slipping into impressions of the characters along the way. I could be miles into a patrol shift, carrying whatever the night had handed me, and that voice would give me a few minutes to laugh.

I needed those minutes. Some of the officers I worked with used enough starch in their underwear to stand at attention without getting out of the patrol car.

Around the station, I was known as the Lone Eagle. I worked the south district, and when I headed south, I soared. Some nights brought felony arrests. Other nights, I found a way to upset an elected city official who probably thought the hour made him unreachable.

Then there was Mildred.

Her husband was a city councilman, and the chief had agreed to put her on the reserve police force. How that arrangement came about, I couldn’t say. What I knew was that Mildred talked through an entire eight-hour shift without seeming to draw a breath. Riding with her was like attending a farm auction where the auctioneer never stopped and the hog never sold. Every so often, the hog would snort, and the bidding would begin again.

Somehow, no matter how the schedule was arranged, Mildred ended up in my unit. The other officers wouldn’t take her. I was the least senior officer on those nights, so I got the assignment.

One night, I lost my patience.

I asked Mildred if she had ever wondered why she always rode with me. She said she thought it was because I liked having her along. I told her that wasn’t it. I said it more harshly than I should have.

She looked genuinely surprised. She hadn’t noticed that other reserve officers got different assignments while she kept getting mine. I told her the others complained about riding with her. When she thought I was making it up, I played a mini-cassette recording of officers saying just that.

Mildred listened. Then she said, “Oh, Ben, you ought to hear what they say about you before you get to the station to pick me up.”

“I know,” I told her. “You don’t think this is the only tape I have, do you?”

I didn’t stop there. I said things about her husband and why I thought he wanted her out of the house. I had no proof of that. I was angry, and I wanted my words to land. I also told her what I expected to happen next: she would go home upset, her husband would complain to the chief, and sooner or later something would happen to me at work.

I drove back to police headquarters and gave her one sentence she could repeat.

“Get the hell out of my unit.”

That night may sound like a scene Clarence could have recapped the next morning: a councilman’s wife, a tape recorder, a patrol officer who finally said too much, and trouble waiting at the station. But there was nothing funny about what followed. Two matters did arise that left me feeling exposed and unable to defend myself as I might have at another time.

My father had died, and I was still crushed by it. I feared a public fight would hurt my family. A year later, I believe I would have fought with everything I had. At that moment, I pulled back.

When I think about those patrol mornings now, I still hear Clarence’s voice cutting through the radio. For a few minutes, his account of somebody else’s drama gave me room to breathe. I had no idea how much I would miss that little break when the drama became my own.

In the months that followed, a series of events unfolded. I’ve written about some of them. Others I’ve never told publicly. That changes in October, when I’ll share what happened and why it sent shock waves through our community and local law enforcement. Watch for the first installment of October Surprises.

You Don’t Have to Finish the Day Before Breakfast

September 25, 2026September 21, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

The day may arrive all at once, but we can only live it one moment at a time. Begin with the coffee, take the next good step, and let the rest of the morning wait its turn.

September 25, 2026

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There are mornings when I wake up already behind.

I haven’t even placed my feet on the floor, yet my mind is standing beside the bed with a clipboard.

There are messages to answer, bills to remember, appointments to keep, stories to write, and several little things I promised myself I would do yesterday. Before I have poured my first cup of coffee, my brain has scheduled enough work to exhaust three people—and at least one of them should be younger than I am.

Traveler beside numbers 1 through 7; sign reads, “A stubborn sunrise is better than not having any at all.” — J_{^{ust start counting the stress away 1…2…3…4…}}

That is the trouble with mornings. The day arrives all at once, even though we can only live it one moment at a time.

Coffee understands this.

It doesn’t leap from the container into the cup fully prepared. The water must heat. The grounds must be measured. The coffee must brew. Then comes the cream, sugar, or whatever little ceremony makes the cup your own.

Nobody stands beside the coffee maker shouting, “Hurry up! We have an entire day to finish!”

Well, perhaps somebody does. But that person should probably be sent back to bed.

Coffee takes the time coffee takes.

Maybe we should grant ourselves the same kindness.

We do not have to solve every problem before breakfast. We do not have to know how the entire day will unfold. We don’t even have to feel particularly enthusiastic about it. Sometimes our first accomplishment is simply getting out of bed. The next may be finding our glasses and remembering why we walked into the kitchen.

Progress is still progress, even when it arrives wearing slippers.

I have discovered that a day becomes much less intimidating when I stop carrying all twenty-four hours at once. I only need to carry this moment.

Drink the coffee.

Answer one message.

Make one decision.

Do the next decent thing.

Then do another.

Some days will still become tangled. Plans will change. Someone will call just as we sit down. Something we carefully placed where we would remember it will disappear into that mysterious dimension occupied by missing socks, reading glasses, and important pieces of paper.

That does not mean the day has been lost.

There is still time to do some Fall Cleaning. Remember -– This is the first week of Autumn and Fall cleaning is not only for closets and cupboards. Sometimes our memories need to be taken down, dusted off, and placed where we can see them again.

A good day does not have to be a perfect day. It only needs a few honest moments: a kindness offered, a responsibility met, a laugh we didn’t expect, or the decision to begin again after something went wrong.

So, if this morning already feels too heavy, set part of it down.

You were never expected to carry the entire day before breakfast.

Begin with the coffee. Let it warm your hands. Take a breath and allow the world to turn without your supervision for a minute or two.

The day will still be waiting.

But perhaps, after that first cup, it won’t look quite so large.

Go ahead get a another cup, and enjoy your morning!

Are you exhausted before your feet even reach the floor? Today’s Morning Coffee is a reminder that you don’t have to carry all twenty-four hours at once—and progress still counts when it arrives wearing slippers.

Before the Day Asks Anything of Us

September 23, 2026September 19, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Before the telephone rings, the messages arrive, and the world begins making its demands, the morning gives us a few quiet moments to gather ourselves. We should not hurry past them.

September 23, 2026

Good morning, my friend.

There is a small stretch of time each morning before the day begins asking things of us.

Before the telephone rings. Before the messages arrive. Before the headlines tell us what we should fear, question, or become angry about. For a few precious moments, there is only the sound of coffee pouring into a cup and the quiet promise of another day.

We often hurry through that silence without realizing how valuable it is. We begin making lists in our minds. We remember what we forgot yesterday and worry about what might go wrong today. Before our feet have carried us very far, our thoughts have already run several miles ahead.

But perhaps the morning was never meant to be a starting gun.

Perhaps it was given to us as a gentle place to gather ourselves—to sit quietly, take a breath, and remember that we are more than our obligations. We are more than the chores waiting in the next room, the appointments written on the calendar, or the problems we have not yet solved.

The world will make its demands soon enough. It always does. But it can wait long enough for us to finish one warm cup of coffee.

So, this morning, give yourself permission to remain still for another moment. Notice the light coming through the window. Listen for the familiar sounds of home. Think of someone who has made your life better simply by being part of it.

You do not have to accomplish anything during these few quiet minutes. You only have to be present for them.

Before the day asks something of you, allow the morning to give something to you: a little peace, a little strength, and another reason to be grateful you are here.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

The world will begin asking things of you soon enough. But before it does, sit quietly, take another sip, and allow the morning to give something back. Today’s Morning Coffee is waiting.

Morning Coffee: Who Should Remain on the Friends List?

September 22, 2026September 21, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

A friends list should not require complete agreement. The better question is not whether someone thinks like us, but whether they can disagree while still treating others with dignity.

September 22, 2026

Two smartphones beside two coffee cups on a wooden table — ^{_{Two smartphones rest beside coffee cups in a warmly lit, relaxed workspace.}}

This weekend, Steve and I found ourselves discussing a modern-day question: Who should we remain social media friends with?

It’s the first day of fall, so you know what that means: seasonal cleaning! Grab the broom and dusting cloth, clear away yesterday’s dust, and make room for everything this new season may bring.

Some of our online friends are people we know personally. Others entered our lives professionally. Some are kinfolk—and, as everyone knows, you do not get to choose your kinfolk. You simply learn which subjects should never be discussed at Thanksgiving.

Then there are the people we have never met. By every traditional definition, they are strangers. Yet, through years of comments, photographs, birthday wishes and shared stories, some of them have become more thoughtful and dependable than people we once saw every day.

Our friends lists also contain a few hangovers from our school years. Some go all the way back to kindergarten, while others joined us somewhere between high school and our last stop in higher education. There are former coworkers, old neighbors, distant cousins and people we once knew well but now recognize primarily by their profile pictures.

Together, they make up this grand and rather peculiar collection called a “friends list.”

The question Steve and I discussed was whether the things these people post could affect how others see us. Does remaining connected to someone suggest that we agree with everything that person believes?

Suppose a distant social media friend—someone we have never met—announces that they are against oxygen. Suddenly, the rumor begins circulating that Ben and Steve want people to stop breathing.

That would be the furthest thing from the truth. We want almost everyone to continue breathing.

But social media does not leave much room for careful distinctions. A friendship, a “like,” or even a silent connection can sometimes be interpreted as an endorsement. People may assume that because someone appears on our friends list, we approve of everything that person says.

That brings us to the difficult part: Who stays, and who goes?

Should one negative political post be enough to unfriend someone? Probably not. Most of us have had a bad day, written something too quickly or allowed frustration to speak before good judgment arrived.

Disagreement alone is not necessarily a reason to end a friendship. If someone dislikes watermelons, for instance, I might question their judgment—but I would not immediately remove them from my life.

However, if they begin posting that people who eat watermelons are destroying America, should be denied medical care and ought to be rounded up before the next family picnic, then we have moved beyond a harmless difference of opinion.

There is a difference between disagreeing with people and demeaning them.

Someone may disagree with our politics, our religion, our marriage or the way we live our lives. They have that right. But we also have the right to decide what behavior we will welcome into our personal space.

A friends list should not require complete agreement. If it did, most of us would eventually be left talking only to ourselves—and even then, I occasionally disagree with myself.

The better question may not be, “Does this person think like me?” It may be, “Does this person treat others with basic dignity?”

Can they disagree without becoming cruel? Can they discuss an issue without insulting entire groups of people? Do their posts contribute something worthwhile, or do they exist mainly to provoke fear, anger and division? When they discover that something they shared was false, do they correct it—or simply move on to the next falsehood?

Those questions tell us much more about a person than whether they vote the same way we do.

There is also a difference between making a mistake and establishing a pattern. One thoughtless post can be forgiven. A steady stream of hatred, personal attacks and deliberate misinformation becomes a choice.

At that point, unfriending someone is not necessarily an act of punishment. It may simply be an act of housekeeping.

We clean our homes by deciding what belongs inside them. Perhaps we should occasionally do the same with our social media spaces.

That does not mean everyone who irritates us must be shown the door. Social media platforms usually provide quieter choices. We can unfollow someone without ending the connection. We can mute a page, hide certain posts or simply continue scrolling.

Not every disagreement requires a courtroom, a family feud or a public announcement beginning with the words, “I am cleaning up my friends list.”

Sometimes the healthiest response is simply to stop giving someone our attention.

Steve and I did not establish a complicated set of rules. We did not begin working down the alphabet, judging every person from childhood onward. Instead, we came back to something much simpler.

We can remain connected to people who disagree with us. We can even learn from them. But we do not have to provide an audience for cruelty, hatred or the deliberate humiliation of others.

Friendship should leave room for differences. It should not require us to surrender our peace, compromise our values or remain silent while others are treated as less than human.

So, who should remain on the friends list?

Perhaps the people who remind us that there is still room in this world for conversation, laughter, kindness and the occasional disagreement over watermelon.

As for oxygen, Steve and I remain firmly in favor of it.

Since it is the first week of fall, we are doing a little seasonal cleaning around here—dusting off a few stories that deserve another moment in the light. You will notice as you read this weeks stories there will be a few cleaning tips sprinkled about as you read. ;-)

Have another cup of coffee—and please, continue breathing.

—— Who should remain on our social media friends list? The people who disagree with us—or only those who know how to disagree without becoming cruel? This Morning Coffee considers friendship, boundaries, watermelons and why Ben and Steve remain firmly in favor of oxygen.

September 21, 2026September 19, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

By the Time Hollywood Gets to Georgia – The GOP Will Be Crying…

Conservative states may believe they are taking Hollywood away from California. But movie productions bring more than cameras, celebrities and California money. They also bring thousands of workers—and some may decide to stay. While political leaders carefully redraw their districts, could they also be importing the very voters who might redraw their political future?

September 21, 2026

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Take a big long sip!

You are going to need it. Maybe take another.

This will be a morning that you also should take bite out of something sweet. I suggest an Apple Fritter. Heavily glazed. The sugar rush will come in later regardless.

Now then.

Stylized United States map linking Hollywood, Phoenix, Dallas, Austin, and Atlanta — _{^{A cinematic map connects Hollywood with major production hubs across the United States.}}

Sheriff Otis and I have been listening to all this talk about re-districting— those voter’s districts being re-drawn, challenged, redrawn, rechallenged and hauled through the courts until nobody is entirely sure which district they live in or whether their congressman is still their congressman.

Several conservative states apparently believe they have discovered the perfect lines. They may have won.

Or have they?

While everybody was staring at the political maps, California may have been looking at a much larger map—the one showing where the movie studios are going.

California, after all, is not some little roadside economy surviving on oranges, movie stars and photographs of the Hollywood sign. Its economy is larger than those of most countries. If California were an independent nation, recent economic figures would place it among the largest economies in the world.

It could probably afford its own army, navy and air force. With Hollywood involved, it could film the invasion, win an Academy Award for it and sell the streaming rights before lunch.

Yet many people continue to speak of California as though it contributes nothing useful to the country.

Nothing, that is, except the movies, television programs, technology, agricultural products and enormous amounts of money they would very much like California to bring into their states.

Georgia, Texas and other states have been offering film incentives to attract productions away from Hollywood. They see studio lights, camera crews and production money arriving, and they begin smiling from rear to rear, believing they have finally found the end of the rainbow.

“Bring us your movies!” they shout.

“Build your studios here!”

“Spend that California money in our restaurants, hotels and Hoot-and-Whistles!”

But they may not have thought the entire thing through.

Productions do not arrive by themselves. They bring actors, camera operators, costume designers, makeup artists, writers, carpenters, electricians and thousands of other workers. Some remain only long enough to finish a production and return home. Others may decide they like the lower cost of living, the warm weather or the fact that a person can still find a parking space.

Those who genuinely establish residency may eventually register to vote.

Sheriff Otis howls out “BLUE VOTERS, MAYNARD!”

You heard me (he barks.)

Liberals moving east from California.

^{_{Or as Otis refers to it, A very bad area to sniff. (It smells of cow and oil drums.)}}

The very states hoping to attract California’s entertainment industry could also attract Californians. Those newcomers might vote in school-board races, city-council elections and contests for governor, Congress and the Senate.

They will not necessarily vote alike, of course. Californians are not produced on a political assembly line, even if Hollywood probably owns the rights to one.

Still, imagine the irony.

Political leaders redraw districts hoping to protect their party, then approve enormous incentives that encourage thousands of workers from another state to move directly into those carefully constructed districts.

It would be the greatest political plot twist since television viewers learned that J.R. had been shot.

And who helped encourage the great migration of studios, corporations and media operations across the country?

The same political leaders who wanted California’s business without California’s influence.

They wanted the gold.

They just forgot that California is called the Golden State because Californians tend to arrive with it.

Perhaps California does not need to fight every redistricting map in court. Perhaps it merely needs to send a film crew.

Before long, every carefully drawn district could contain a casting director, three screenwriters, two sound engineers and somebody ordering an oat-milk latte at the Fill-Your-Buggy.

Conservative states may believe they are taking Hollywood away from California.

California may simply be franchising.

Morning Coffee: The Sausage Patties

September 19, 2026September 17, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Whatever the reason, I’ll be back next weekend. Our waitress can probably write down my order now.

For those who have been around a time or two, you know where to find Steve and me on a weekend morning. For anyone just arriving, let me bring you up to speed.

Every weekend, usually Saturday or Sunday and sometimes both, we visit the same local restaurant. Our waitress looks for us. By the time we settle into a booth, she knows what I’m having, and our drinks are already on their way.

Three Sausage Patties, three eggs, wheat toast, hash browns, and a bowl of gravy. That is my order. Steve is more complicated. He studies the menu, makes a decision, changes his mind, and studies it again.

My order never changes. There’s comfort in that, especially at the end of a week when everything else seems to have demanded a decision.

I should explain the capital letters. Those Sausage Patties deserve them. They are, as we used to say when I was growing up, to die for. Back then, we said that about all sorts of things. These days, I’m happy just to get up on a weekend morning and go have breakfast.

I think fennel is part of what makes them so good. At least, that’s the word I intend to say. At the restaurant, Steve and I sometimes call it “fentanyl” by mistake. Then one of us catches it, and we both start laughing. Our waitress knows perfectly well what we mean, though I suspect she enjoys watching us try to get the word right.

The mix-up has become part of our weekend routine. I can forget the name of the seasoning halfway through a sentence, but I never forget how those patties taste. By midweek, I’m already looking forward to their return performance.

Of course, the sausage alone wouldn’t make this our place. Our waitress remembers us. Steve gets all the time he needs with the menu. I get to sit across from him while our breakfast arrives, knowing that for a little while, there is nowhere else we need to be.

It’s a simple pleasure. That may be why I keep coming back to it.

Next weekend, Steve will open the menu and consider his options. Our waitress will look at me, pick up her pen, and smile. She already knows. And if I happen to mention the wrong herb again, I know she’ll know what I mean. Her name? Christin-a.

In 63 years, America has traveled an extraordinary distance, and yet some shadows seem to follow us from one generation into another.

September 18, 2026September 16, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

September 18, 2026

Illuminated modern building beside calm water with Washington Monument in distance

When President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas on November 22, 1963, questions involving the Soviet Union quickly became part of the national conversation. Lee Harvey Oswald had lived in the Soviet Union, had a Russian wife, and had visited the Soviet Embassy in Mexico City shortly before the assassination. Those facts helped feed suspicions that have persisted for generations.

Official investigations, however, did not establish that the Soviet government ordered or participated in Kennedy’s murder. The Warren Commission found no evidence that Oswald had been employed or encouraged by a foreign government, and a later congressional investigation likewise concluded that the Soviet government was not involved.

Still, the suspicion never entirely disappeared from the American imagination.

More than half a century later, Russia would again become entangled in an American presidency—this time under very different circumstances. U.S. intelligence agencies and the bipartisan Senate Intelligence Committee concluded that Russia interfered in the 2016 presidential election. Investigations also documented numerous contacts between people associated with Donald Trump’s campaign and individuals connected to Russia, although those investigations did not establish that the Trump family had joined a Russian conspiracy to control the election.

The circumstances were different.

The questions were different.

But Russia had once again become part of an American argument about a president, political power and public trust.

And somewhere between those two moments stands the name John F. Kennedy.

In 1963, that name became permanently attached to a national tragedy.

Sixty-three years later, it has again become part of a national political struggle.

In 63 years, we have watched America pass through moments that once seemed almost unimaginable.

Some of us were born into an America still carrying the optimism of the Kennedy years. Then came the Bay of Pigs, the failed 1961 invasion of Cuba authorized by President John F. Kennedy after the operation had originally been developed during the Eisenhower administration. It became one of Kennedy’s earliest foreign-policy crises.

Then, on November 22, 1963, President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas.

Five years later, his brother Robert Kennedy was assassinated while campaigning for the Democratic presidential nomination.

That same turbulent year, 1968, President Lyndon Baines Johnson surprised the nation by announcing that he would neither seek nor accept his party’s nomination for another term. His decision came while the Vietnam War consumed the nation and political divisions at home continued to deepen.

Vietnam itself stretched across presidencies, taking American lives and leaving divisions that remained long after the troops came home.

Then came Watergate.

President Richard Nixon resigned on August 9, 1974, as impeachment proceedings advanced against him. One month later, President Gerald Ford granted Nixon a full presidential pardon for federal offenses he had committed or might have committed while in office.

America moved forward again.

Then came the Iran hostage crisis.

Fifty-two Americans were held hostage for 444 days after the U.S. Embassy in Tehran was seized in 1979. President Jimmy Carter paid an enormous political price for the crisis. Yet negotiations conducted by his administration produced the agreement that ultimately secured their freedom. The hostages were released on January 20, 1981—the day Carter left office and Ronald Reagan was inaugurated.

Then, during the Reagan administration, came Iran-Contra.

Weapons were secretly sold to Iran as administration officials sought assistance in securing the freedom of American hostages held in Lebanon, while money from the transactions was diverted to support the Contra forces in Nicaragua. Reagan initially rejected the characterization that weapons had been traded for hostages, but later acknowledged that the facts showed the initiative had deteriorated into exactly that.

Under President George H. W. Bush, America went to war in the Persian Gulf after Iraq invaded Kuwait.

During the Clinton years, turmoil came from both abroad and within our own borders. We witnessed the deadly conclusion of the Branch Davidian standoff near Waco, Texas, in 1993. Two years later, Timothy McVeigh bombed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, killing 168 people, including 19 children. As of Sept 16, 2026 it remains the deadliest act of homegrown terrorism in American history.

Then came September 11, 2001.

During the presidency of George W. Bush, nineteen al-Qaeda terrorists hijacked four commercial airplanes. Two struck the World Trade Center towers, another struck the Pentagon, and the fourth crashed in Pennsylvania after passengers and crew fought back. Nearly 3,000 people were killed.

A decade later, during the Obama administration, U.S. forces located and killed Osama bin Laden, the al-Qaeda leader who had directed the September 11 attacks.

And still America continued.

Donald Trump became the 45th president. Joe Biden followed as the 46th. Trump returned as the 47th.

During those years another consequential development occurred. In July 2024, the Supreme Court ruled in Trump v. United States that former presidents possess absolute immunity from criminal prosecution for actions falling within their core constitutional powers and at least presumptive immunity for other official presidential acts. The decision significantly altered the legal framework surrounding presidential power and accountability.

Now another American institution has become part of that continuing argument over government, presidential power, history and national identity: the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.

The Kennedy Center was created as a living memorial to President John F. Kennedy. In 2026, efforts by its Trump-aligned leadership to place President Trump’s name on the building and grounds were blocked by a federal judge, who ruled that such changes require congressional authorization. Shortly afterward, the board voted to close most of the Kennedy Center for as long as two years for what it described as renovations and safety repairs. Fencing has since gone up around the complex.

And perhaps that is why the Kennedy Center has become symbolic of something larger.

Not because one building defines America.

It does not.

But because institutions accumulate meaning.

A memorial is not simply concrete, marble, steel and glass. Its name tells future generations whom a nation chose to remember. Its halls preserve music, theater, ceremony and history. Its identity becomes part of the historical record.

That is why changes to such places matter.

America rarely loses its identity in one dramatic moment. History suggests that change more often comes piece by piece—through elections, court decisions, wars, scandals, legislation, cultural struggles and arguments over institutions that once seemed permanent.

Sometimes those changes strengthen the country.

Sometimes Americans decide later that they went too far.

And sometimes a generation does not realize how much has changed until it turns around and looks at everything that disappeared along the way.

For those of us who have lived these 63 years, that may be the greater lesson.

We have watched presidents come and go. We have watched wars begin and end. We have watched assassinations, terrorist attacks, political scandals and constitutional crises. We have watched the country bend under pressures that, at the time, appeared capable of breaking it.

Yet the buildings themselves were never really the foundation.

The foundation was the agreement that some things belonged not to one president, one political party or one generation, but to the American people.

And perhaps that is the question confronting us again:

What parts of our national inheritance are merely ours to change—and what parts have we been entrusted to preserve for those who come after us?

And now we find ourselves back at the Kennedy name.

The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts was designated by Congress as a living memorial to the slain president. In 2026, a political and legal struggle developed over efforts by the Kennedy Center’s Trump-aligned leadership to place President Donald Trump’s name on the institution and its grounds. A federal judge ruled that such changes require congressional authorization. Shortly afterward, the board voted to close most of the Center for extensive renovations, and fencing appeared around the complex. The administration says the closure is necessary for repairs; opponents have challenged the actions surrounding the Center and fear permanent changes to its identity.

That brings these 63 years into an almost haunting circle.

They began for many of us with the gunshots in Dallas and the destruction of a presidency.

They now bring us to a building created so that the name of that president—and what his generation represented—would remain alive long after those gunshots faded.

I hesitate to call what is happening at the Kennedy Center the destruction of the building itself, because that has not been established. But symbolically, something much larger is being argued over.

Who owns a national memorial?

Who decides what name it carries?

How much authority should any sitting president have to reshape an institution created by Congress to memorialize another?

And when does renovation become reinvention?

Perhaps that is where the Kennedy Center becomes more than another Washington building surrounded by fencing.

For those who remember November 1963, it can represent the closing of an extraordinary historical circle.

Kennedy was killed by an assassin’s bullet.

His presidency ended in Dallas.

But his name survived.

It survived on schools, highways, airports, a space center and one of America’s most important cultural institutions.

That is why what happens to the Kennedy Center matters beyond marble, concrete and performance halls.

A nation can bury a president.

It can survive his assassination.

But the more difficult question comes generations later:

Does it continue to protect the memory entrusted to it?

Perhaps the Kennedy Center should not be described as the final nail in President Kennedy’s coffin.

Kennedy’s coffin was closed 63 years ago.

The more unsettling possibility is that we are deciding, 63 years later, what becomes of the legacy that remained above ground.

Morning Coffee ––– What Is a Joppler?

September 17, 2026September 15, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Joppler — noun. creator Benjamin H. Groff II

September 17, 2026

What Is a Joppler?

A diabolical person who can begin by telling you to click on a link and, within minutes, have you wondering why somebody is lying on the floor asking to be tasered, handcuffed, arrested, and possibly recruited into the United States Marine Corps.

###

I created the word myself.

Medieval jester juggling three balls before an amused crowd — ^{_{While you might imagine a jester, this subject is dressed in a three piece suit and tie. Ready to take you for all you have!}}

A joppler begins innocently enough.

Someone says, “Click on the link.”

You click.

That is your first mistake.

Because a joppler does not simply lead you from Point A to Point B. A joppler takes Point A, throws Point B out the window, backs over Point C, and somehow arrives at Point Q without anybody noticing how you got there.

Imagine somebody volunteering to be tasered.

They lie down on the floor because they want to know what it feels like. Then apparently one tasering is not enough. They want another one. Stronger this time.

PING!

Again.

PING!

Perhaps they find the person holding the Taser attractive. Now we have introduced an entirely different problem.

Next comes the role-playing.

“Arrest me.”

So they get handcuffed.

Then, naturally, they begin fighting the arrest they specifically requested five seconds earlier.

Now they have earned another tasering.

PING!

At this point you may be asking:

What in the hell does any of this have to do with clicking on a link?

Exactly.

You have been joppled.

I started by talking about clicking a link. Then I moved you into Tasers, handcuffs, role-playing, resisting arrest, electrical impulses and possibly questionable romantic attraction.

Your original train of thought is gone.

Your brain has been joppled.

And I can keep going.

Now we’re talking about getting older.

Except we’re not really talking about getting older, because suddenly you’re thinking about serving your country. Maybe becoming a Marine.

Except the war in Afghanistan is over.

So now we’re talking about Afghanistan.

Which takes us back to September 11, 2001.

But September 11 was twenty-five years ago.

Soon, an enormous portion of the American population will have been born after 9/11. For them, it will not be a personal memory at all. It will be history—something they learned about from parents, teachers, documentaries and old television footage.

And now stop.

Think about where we started.

Click on the link.

That was it.

A link.

And somehow we traveled from clicking a link to Tasers, handcuffs, Marines, Afghanistan, September 11 and the passage of an entire generation.

That is the work of a joppler.

A joppler can begin a conversation on one subject and eventually deposit you at the end of another subject that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the subject you thought you were discussing in the beginning.

And the worst part?

You usually don’t realize you have been joppled until it’s already over.

So the next time somebody says:

“Click on this link…”

Be careful.

You may be dealing with a joppler. At the end, you will be told that you agree with them. And you will believe them. Because if you don’t you’re wrong. And if you don’t agree. The people around you, won’t like you. If you disagree with them, then you will be a bigger joppler. So you best be a little joppler and just shut up and just nod your head and go along. That is how this country so joppled!

Morning Coffee — Don’t Hurry Past Today

September 16, 2026September 14, 2026Benjamin2 Comments

oh lord coffee please purple and pink cup — _{^{Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com}}

We spend so much time waiting for the next important day that we sometimes overlook the ordinary ones.

September 16, 2026

Wednesday has an unusual position in the week.

Monday is the beginning.

Friday is the finish line everybody seems to be watching.

Wednesday is simply standing somewhere in the middle, usually receiving very little attention.

Perhaps that makes it a lot like life.

We spend an enormous amount of time waiting for something else.

Waiting for Friday.

Waiting for vacation.

Waiting for retirement.

Waiting until the weather cools down.

Waiting until the bills are paid.

Waiting until we have more time.

Waiting until life finally settles down enough for us to enjoy it.

Then one day we look behind us and discover that all of those ordinary days we hurried through were life.

They weren’t the space between important moments.

They were the important moments.

The morning when nothing unusual happened.

The dog sleeping nearby.

Someone you love sitting in the next room.

The familiar sound of the coffeemaker finishing its work.

A telephone conversation about absolutely nothing important.

Dinner at the same table.

A sunset you have seen hundreds of times.

Those things rarely announce themselves as memories while they are happening.

But years later, they can become the things we would give almost anything to experience one more time.

That is why perhaps Wednesday deserves a little respect.

It reminds us that the middle matters.

Not every day needs to be memorable.

Not every morning needs a purpose beyond simply being here to experience it.

There is something comforting about an ordinary day.

No emergency.

No terrible telephone call.

No unexpected crisis.

Just another cup of coffee and another sunrise.

We sometimes call that boring.

Maybe we should call it fortunate.

So today, don’t hurry too quickly toward Friday.

Take a look around Wednesday first.

Notice who is sitting beside you.

Notice who calls.

Notice the familiar sounds around your home.

Notice the ordinary things that make your life yours.

Someday you may discover those were the things that mattered most.

Finish your coffee before it gets cold.

Stay in the conversation a little longer.

And don’t be so eager to get to tomorrow that you completely miss today.

Have a peaceful Wednesday.

Wednesday may only be the middle of the week—but perhaps the middle deserves more attention. Today’s Morning Coffee is about slowing down long enough to notice your life while you are living it.

Morning Coffee — The People Who Quietly Hold Us Up

September 15, 2026September 17, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Life is rarely held together by grand gestures. More often, it is held together by ordinary people quietly showing up when somebody needs them.

September 14, 2026

Some of the most important people in our lives rarely receive a standing ovation.

Five adults having a conversation in a library, with one taking notes — ^{_{A diverse group gathers for a thoughtful conversation among the library shelves.}}

They don’t make speeches.

They don’t arrive with trumpets sounding.

Most of the time, they simply show up.

They are the person who notices when your voice sounds different on the telephone.

The neighbor who brings your trash container back toward the house.

The friend who sends a message saying, “Just checking on you.”

The coworker who quietly finishes something because they know you’ve had a difficult day.

The family member who has heard the same story many times but listens again anyway.

These are not spectacular acts when measured individually.

But life is not held together entirely by spectacular acts.

It is held together by thousands of small ones.

We remember the people who were there when everything fell apart because their presence became part of the memory itself. Years later, we may forget exactly what they said, but we remember that they stayed.

There is tremendous comfort in knowing somebody stayed.

Sometimes that is all a person needs.

Not advice.

Not a solution.

Not someone trying to explain why everything will eventually be fine.

Just someone willing to sit beside them long enough for the world to become manageable again.

We often underestimate the value of our own presence for the same reason.

We think helping someone requires something remarkable.

Usually, it doesn’t.

A cup of coffee across the kitchen table can help.

A five-minute telephone call can help.

Remembering somebody’s birthday can help.

Asking, “How are you doing?” and actually waiting for the answer can help.

The ordinary kindnesses are rarely ordinary to the person who needed them.

So while you are having your coffee this morning, think about the people who quietly helped hold your world together at different times in your life.

Some may still be here.

Some may have already gone on.

Some may never have known how much their small kindness meant.

And then consider this:

You may be that person for somebody else today.

You might never know it.

That is the interesting thing about kindness. We rarely know how far it travels after it leaves our hands.

So make the call.

Send the message.

Hold the door.

Listen to the story.

Stay a few minutes longer.

The world has enough people trying to make grand impressions.

What it desperately needs are more people willing to make small differences.

Enjoy your coffee, and have a wonderful Tuesday.

You may never know how much a simple call, visit, or kind word means to another person. This morning’s coffee is for the people who quietly stay.

Morning Coffee — A Fresh Cup, A Fresh Start

September 14, 2026September 12, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Monday gives us something yesterday cannot—a fresh opportunity. We cannot rewrite what has already happened, but we can decide what happens next.

By Benjamin Groff II GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026
September 14, 2026

There is something forgiving about Monday morning.

close up shot of a cup of coffee — _{^{Photo by hello aesthe on Pexels.com}}

It doesn’t always feel that way, of course. Monday has developed a reputation for being the day nobody particularly wants to see coming. The alarm seems louder, the bed feels more comfortable, and that first cup of coffee often carries considerably more responsibility than coffee should ever be expected to handle.

But perhaps Monday deserves another look.

Monday is another beginning.

Whatever went wrong last week has already happened. Whatever we didn’t finish is waiting for another attempt. The words we wish we had said differently cannot be pulled back, but the next words out of our mouths can be kinder.

Life gives us remarkably few opportunities to change yesterday.

It gives us countless opportunities to change today.

That is worth remembering as we sit with our coffee this morning.

Maybe you have been carrying something around that has become heavier than it needs to be. A disagreement. A disappointment. An unfinished task. Something you have been putting off because beginning it seems harder than continuing to avoid it.

Monday may be as good a day as any to set it down, straighten it out, or simply begin again.

You don’t have to repair your entire life before lunch.

Sometimes progress is nothing more dramatic than making the phone call, answering the message, washing the dishes, opening the curtains, or finally taking the first step toward something you have been thinking about for weeks.

Small beginnings still count.

We tend to celebrate the grand accomplishments because they are easy to see. But nearly every great accomplishment started somewhere very ordinary—with someone deciding, on an otherwise unremarkable morning, that today they would try.

Perhaps that is Monday’s real gift.

It arrives whether we are ready for it or not and quietly places another blank page in front of us.

So pour the coffee.

Take your time with the first few sips.

Then decide what deserves another chance today.

It might be a project.

It might be a relationship.

It might simply be you.

Whatever it is, remember this: starting over does not mean you failed.

Sometimes it simply means you learned enough from yesterday to approach today differently.

And that sounds like a pretty good reason to raise the coffee cup.

Have a wonderful Monday, and make something good out of the day in front of you.

Morning Coffee – There is Another Way…

September 13, 2026September 10, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Sometimes we become so focused on the road we are traveling that we forget there may be another way. A different choice, a fresh perspective, or simply the courage to ask,

“What else is possible?”

can open doors we never noticed before.

September 13, 2026

Good morning.

cup of coffee and peg message board with funny title — ^{_{Photo by https://kaboompics.com/ on Pexels.com}}

Pour yourself a cup of coffee and consider something we sometimes forget when life becomes difficult:

There is usually another way.

We have a habit of looking at life as though someone has handed us a map with only one road marked on it. We convince ourselves that we must continue in the direction we are traveling because turning around would mean failure, changing course would mean weakness, or choosing something different would mean admitting we were wrong.

But life doesn’t work that way.

Sometimes the smartest thing we can do is stop long enough to notice the little road running off to the side.

Maybe there is another job.

Another friendship.

Another town.

Another dream.

Another way of spending your time.

Another way of looking at something that has bothered you for years.

Sometimes the alternative isn’t even something outside of us. Sometimes the new direction begins simply by changing the way we see what is already there.

A closed door doesn’t always mean the journey is over. It may simply mean we have been standing at the wrong door.

There are moments when we become so determined to make one particular thing work that we overlook every other possibility around us. We push harder. We worry more. We replay conversations. We imagine everything that could go wrong.

Meanwhile, another possibility may be sitting quietly beside us saying, You could try this instead.

That doesn’t mean we should abandon everything whenever life becomes difficult. Some things are worth fighting for. Some relationships are worth repairing. Some dreams deserve another attempt.

But perseverance and stubbornness are not always the same thing.

Wisdom sometimes means knowing when to keep pushing.

And sometimes wisdom means recognizing that you are allowed to choose another road.

There is tremendous freedom in those words:

You have options.

You have options.

You can reconsider.

You can begin again.

You can change your mind.

You can learn something today that causes you to see yesterday differently.

You can decide that what once mattered greatly to you doesn’t matter nearly as much anymore.

And you do not need permission to grow beyond the person you used to be.

Perhaps that is where we begin this morning.

Not by asking, How do I make everything stay the same?

But by asking:

What else is possible?

Look around.

There may be another road you haven’t noticed yet.

And it just might lead somewhere wonderful.

Have a great day from benandsteve.com — and remember, sometimes a fresh perspective begins with nothing more complicated than realizing there are other options.

Morning Coffee ––– What We Carry Into the Day

September 12, 2026September 9, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Every morning gives us another opportunity to decide what we will carry into the day. We may not control everything that happens, but we can still choose kindness, patience and the small acts that make an ordinary day a little better.

September 12, 2026

There is something about the first cup of coffee that feels like a small beginning.

black and white text on black wall — _{^{Photo by James Frid on Pexels.com}}

The house may still be quiet. The day may not have completely decided what it intends to become. For a few minutes, there is only the warmth of the cup in our hands and the opportunity to decide what we are going to carry with us into the hours ahead.

And we do carry things.

We carry yesterday’s disappointments. We carry conversations we wish had gone differently. We carry worries about tomorrow, people we love, bills that need paying, decisions that need making, and questions for which we still have no answers.

But we also carry something else.

We carry kindness.

We carry the memory of someone who once helped us when they didn’t have to. We carry the laughter of people who have shared our table. We carry lessons taught to us by parents, grandparents, friends and sometimes complete strangers who crossed our path only briefly.

Perhaps one of the greatest choices we make every morning is deciding which of those things deserves the most room.

There will always be something to worry about. There will always be someone determined to spoil a perfectly good day. And there will always be circumstances beyond our control.

But we still get to decide what we contribute.

Wooden sign reading, "Be kind to the people around you, the life you save might be your own." — _{^{A wooden park sign shares a heartfelt reminder to treat others with kindness.}}

A kind word costs very little.

Holding a door takes only a moment.

Calling someone who has been on your mind might change their entire afternoon.

And sometimes simply listening to another person without trying to correct them, hurry them or outdo their story is one of the finest gifts we can give.

None of these things will make the evening news.

There won’t be a parade.

Nobody is likely to hand us a trophy for being decent to another human being.

But those small acts have a way of traveling farther than we ever realize.

So this morning, while the coffee is still warm, perhaps we can leave a little room in the day for something good.

We don’t have to change the whole world before lunchtime.

Changing one person’s moment might be enough.

And sometimes, without ever knowing it, that person may be us.

Have a great day from benandsteve.com — and may your coffee be warm, your worries be light, and the kindness you send into the world find its way back home.

Be kind to others, it is really the right thing to do.

Morning Coffee*2 – Today We Had To Have A Second Cup of Coffee –

September 11, 2026September 11, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

September 11th, 2001 How The Day’s Events Unfolded

September 11, 2026

_{^{We Will Never Forget September 11, 2001}}

The Morning Everything Changed

For me, September 11, 2001, began as an average day.

There was nothing about that morning that suggested history was about to interrupt ordinary life.

It was just before 9:00 a.m. I had stopped at the Mayor’s Office in Wichita, Kansas, to drop off schedules and some other papers. After finishing there, I stepped into the elevator to head down toward the Chief of Police’s Office.

Several other people were riding with me.

Then my phone rang.

city skyline during night time — ^{_{Photo by Philip Warp on Pexels.com}}

At that time, it still wasn’t especially common for everyone to be carrying a cell phone the way we do today. I looked at the incoming number and knew immediately that I probably needed to answer it.

I barely had time to offer a greeting.

I was told to stop what I was doing and get over to the Wichita Eagle as quickly as possible to monitor what I could from the wire.

There had been an attack on the World Trade Center.

That was all I knew.

I made my way toward my vehicle, still trying to understand what I had just been told.

Then another call came.

A second airplane had struck the other tower.

I remember saying aloud, almost in disbelief:

“What? An airplane just hit the towers? Two of them?”

The people standing nearby looked at me in shock.

They wanted to know what was happening.

I told them the only thing I could tell them with any certainty:

Get to a television or a radio.

It appeared our nation was under attack.

By the time I arrived at the Wichita Eagle, the newsroom—or bullpen, as we called it—was unusually quiet.

It was full of reporters, but there was none of the ordinary newsroom chatter.

I stood just outside the room on the landing, watching television monitors and listening as the Associated Press wire sounded with update after update.

Someone would grab the latest report and read it aloud.

New York.

Then Pennsylvania.

Then Virginia and the District of Columbia.

Each update seemed worse than the one before it.

You could feel the realization spreading through the room that this was not going to be a normal news day.

It was going to be a very long day.

None of us standing there could have known just how long its shadow would become.

September 11 would destroy thousands of lives in a matter of hours. It would leave families grieving, reshape national security, change the way Americans traveled, and alter the direction of the country.

But history also has a strange way of reaching into individual lives in ways we cannot immediately see.

That day ultimately became part of the chain of events that changed my own life.

The economic and employment changes that followed would eventually lead Steve and me away from Kansas and the lower Great Plains and toward Arizona.

We went from winters of ice, snow, and cold prairie winds to the Sonoran Desert and summers measured in heat waves.

airplane over american flags near washington monument — _{^{Photo by Ramaz Bluashvili on Pexels.com}}

Years earlier, I had made Steve a promise that someday we would live in Phoenix.

I simply believed that “someday” was still twenty years away.

Life had other plans.

There is something almost impossible to reconcile about that.

A national tragedy that brought unimaginable grief to so many families also became one of the forces that redirected countless other lives.

Mine was one of them.

That does not lessen the tragedy.

If anything, it reminds me how far the consequences of a single day can travel.

A person can wake up believing they know exactly what tomorrow will look like.

Then the telephone rings.

A television screen changes.

A headline appears.

And suddenly the future takes a road no one had planned to travel.

That is what I remember most about September 11.

Not only the towers.

Not only the newsroom.

Not only the sound of the wire delivering one terrible update after another.

I remember how completely ordinary the morning had been just moments before.

And perhaps that is the lasting lesson.

We never really know which ordinary morning will become the dividing line between before and after.

So love the people around you.

Say what needs to be said.

Keep the promises that matter.

And never assume that because today began ordinarily, tomorrow is guaranteed to look the same.

Some mornings quietly become history.

Morning Coffee — For many some, dates pass quietly on the calendar this day may not do so.

September 11, 2026September 7, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

September 11, 2026

us flag on gray surface — _{^{Photo by Matthis Volquardsen on Pexels.com}}

September 11 does not.

For millions of Americans, and for people around the world, this date carries a scar that time has never completely erased. It reminds us where we were, what we saw, what we felt, and how quickly an ordinary morning became something unimaginable.

But beneath the history, the headlines, the smoke, the sirens, and the sorrow is another lesson that reaches into every home.

There are no guarantees when we say goodbye.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, thousands of people did what they had done countless mornings before.

They kissed a spouse goodbye.

They hugged a child.

They waved from a doorway.

They grabbed their coffee, headed for work, boarded an airplane, stepped into an office, answered an alarm, or began an ordinary shift.

Most of them had every reason to believe they would be home again that evening.

Some never were.

That may be one of the hardest truths September 11 leaves with us.

We often live as though there will always be another opportunity.

Another phone call.

Another dinner.

Another visit.

Another chance to say, “I love you.”

Another chance to apologize.

Another chance to linger at the door for just a few more seconds.

But life has never promised us that.

A person can leave our presence in the morning and, through circumstances completely beyond anyone’s control, be gone before nightfall.

September 11 reminds us not to take the people in our lives for granted.

It reminds us that the hurried goodbye deserves a little more care.

That the person sitting across from us at breakfast deserves our attention.

That the phone call from someone we love might be worth answering.

That anger sometimes deserves to be put aside before we walk out the door.

And that “I love you” is rarely something we should save for later.

This day also reminds us of those who ran toward danger while others were trying desperately to escape it.

Firefighters.

Police officers.

Paramedics.

Emergency workers.

Ordinary people who became extraordinary simply because someone else needed help.

Many knew the danger.

They went anyway.

Their courage remains part of the living legacy of September 11, along with the memories of every innocent life taken that morning.

So perhaps today’s coffee should be a little slower.

Perhaps we should sit with the people we love a little longer.

Make the call we have been putting off.

Forgive something that no longer deserves the space it occupies in our hearts.

And when someone we love walks out the door today, let our final words be words we would be at peace remembering.

Because none of us knows which goodbye will be the last.

September 11 taught us that lesson in the most painful way imaginable.

May we honor those who were lost not only by remembering how they died, but by remembering how important it is to cherish those who are still here.

This morning, hold your coffee close.

Hold your memories closer.

And hold the people you love closest of all.

We remember. We honor. And we never forget.

— Morning Coffee
benandsteve.com

There is something special about the few quiet minutes before the day begins asking things of us.

September 9, 2026September 5, 2026Benjamin1 Comment

Before the phone rings, the messages arrive, and the day begins asking things of us, there is a little quiet time to simply be. Sometimes the most ordinary parts of morning—the coffee, the familiar sounds of home, and a few peaceful minutes—are the moments worth noticing most.

September 9, 2026

~~~ ### ~~~

Before the phone rings.

asian men sitting on stairs with drinks — _{^{Photo by Handi Berty on Pexels.com}}

Before the messages start coming in.

Before somebody needs an answer.

Before the list of things we meant to do yesterday quietly becomes today’s list.

There is coffee.

And sometimes, that is enough.

I have come to appreciate those first few moments of the morning. The house is still finding its footing. The outside world hasn’t completely awakened yet, and for a little while, nobody expects anything from you.

You can simply sit.

Think.

Remember.

Or, if you are lucky, think about absolutely nothing at all.

That may be harder than it sounds.

We spend so much of our lives preparing for what comes next that we sometimes miss what is sitting directly in front of us.

The warmth of the cup in our hands.

The light beginning to slip through the window.

silhouette of man making coffee in kitchen — _{^{Photo by Smitha Nittur on Pexels.com}}

The familiar sounds of home.

A dog wandering through the room, checking to make sure breakfast hasn’t somehow been forgotten.

These little things rarely make the headlines of our lives.

But perhaps they should.

Because when we look back, it isn’t always the big accomplishments we miss the most.

Sometimes it is the kitchen table.

The old coffee cup.

The chair somebody used to sit in.

The sound of a familiar voice coming from another room.

Ordinary things have a strange way of becoming priceless once enough time has passed.

So before today gets busy, give yourself a few minutes.

Don’t rush the coffee.

Don’t rush the morning.

There will be plenty of time for everything else.

For now, sit where you are and notice what is still here.

There is more to be thankful for in an ordinary morning than we sometimes realize.

And maybe that is the real gift of morning coffee.

It doesn’t solve everything.

It simply gives us a quiet place to begin.

Have a great day from benandsteve.com — and may your coffee be warm, your morning peaceful, and your day give you at least one reason to smile.

Morning Coffee ––– Some mornings arrive quietly.

September 8, 2026September 5, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Not every day needs to be extraordinary to be meaningful. Sometimes the moments we barely notice—a warm cup of coffee, a familiar voice, or a quiet morning at home—become the memories we treasure most.

September 8, 2029

~~~ ### ~~~

No thunder. No grand announcement. No particular reason to believe the day will be remarkable.

cozy nighttime coffee shop street scene — _{^{Photo by Jinshu Pulpatta on Pexels.com}}

The coffee brews.

The sun comes up.

The house begins to stir.

And for a few minutes, life is simply allowed to be what it is.

I think we sometimes overlook those mornings because we are waiting for something bigger to happen.

We wait for the phone call.

The good news.

The bad news.

The answer we have been hoping for.

The problem we have been trying to solve.

But most of life doesn’t arrive with a trumpet.

Most of it slips quietly through the kitchen while we are standing there holding a coffee cup.

It is found in ordinary conversations.

A wave from a neighbor.

A dog waiting patiently by the door.

Someone remembering to ask how we are doing.

A familiar song playing somewhere in the background.

Those things don’t seem important at the time.

But years later, they often become the things we remember most.

Maybe that is because ordinary days give us room to notice.

When nothing dramatic is demanding our attention, we can see the smaller pieces of life that are usually hidden beneath the noise.

And there is something comforting in realizing that a day does not have to be extraordinary to be good.

Sometimes a good day is simply one where everybody made it home.

Where supper was eaten.

Where someone laughed.

Where the coffee was hot.

Where, for a little while, everything was all right.

So don’t be too quick to dismiss an ordinary morning.

There may be something happening today that you will someday wish you could experience one more time.

Sit with it awhile.

Drink the coffee before it gets cold.

Look around.

Listen.

And give today a little room to become a memory.

Have a great day from benandsteve.com — and may you find something worth remembering in the ordinary moments ahead.

Morning Coffee ––– There are mornings when the coffee seems heavier than usual.

September 7, 2026September 5, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

We carry more into each morning than the coffee in our cup. Memories, worries, laughter, and yesterday’s unfinished thoughts often come along with us. But a new morning gives us another chance to decide what is worth carrying forward—and what might finally be time to leave behind.

September 7, 2026

vintage scale in kitchen setting with retro design — _{^{Photo by Alexander Popadin on Pexels.com}}

But sometimes what we bring with us to the table gives it a little more weight.

Not the cup, of course. The cup weighs exactly what it did yesterday.

We carry yesterday into the morning.

A conversation we wish had gone differently. A worry we never quite put down before going to bed. A name we have been thinking about. A memory that wandered in without knocking and decided to stay awhile.

Then there are the things we carry that feel a little lighter.

A laugh from yesterday.

Someone checking in just because they were thinking about us.

A dog stretched out nearby, perfectly content with life as long as breakfast eventually appears.

A familiar chair.

A quiet house.

And that first dependable cup of coffee.

Maybe mornings aren’t really about starting over. Life doesn’t erase itself while we sleep. The bills are still there. The problems haven’t packed their bags and moved out during the night. That stubborn thing we were worrying about yesterday may still be sitting right where we left it.

But morning does give us another chance to decide how much of it we are going to carry.

Some things need our attention.

Some things need our patience.

And some things probably need to be left sitting beside the road somewhere behind us.

We are not required to drag every disappointment we have ever known into every new day.

That may be one of life’s quieter lessons.

We can remember without remaining stuck.

We can care without carrying everything.

We can miss someone and still smile.

We can have difficult days and still believe there are good ones ahead.

So this morning, while the coffee is still warm, take inventory of what you brought to the table.

Keep the memories that make you smile.

Hold close the people who matter.

Take care of the things that truly need tending.

And perhaps leave a little room in your hands for something new.

coffee cup in hand for breakfast — _{^{Photo by Berna on Pexels.com}}

Because you never know what this day may be waiting to give you.

Sometimes all we need is enough room to receive it.

Have a great day from benandsteve.com — and may your coffee be warm, your burdens a little lighter, and your day give you something worth carrying into tomorrow.

Morining Coffee ––– One Cup at a Time: Finding Peace in an Ordinary Morning

September 5, 2026October 12, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

You don’t have to solve everything before the coffee cools. Some mornings are simply meant for taking life one task, one conversation, and one cup at a time.

Coffee cup, handwritten note reading “Morning Notes · Oct 28,” and folded linens — _{^{A steaming cup of coffee, handwritten notes, and folded linens create a peaceful morning scene. Groff Media2026©}}

There are mornings when the coffee seems to understand us better than we understand ourselves.

We sit down with a warm cup in our hands and a list already forming in our minds.

Things we need to do.

Things we should have done yesterday.

Things we are worried about tomorrow.

And before we have even taken the first good sip, we have managed to turn an ordinary morning into a meeting with every problem we have ever known.

I have learned something about mornings, though.

They were never meant to carry the weight of an entire lifetime.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is simply take care of what is directly in front of us.

Drink the coffee.

Feed the dog.

Answer the message.

Make the bed.

Call the person we have been meaning to call.

Step outside for a minute and notice that the sun came up again without asking us to supervise it.

There is a strange comfort in remembering that not everything requires our immediate attention.

Some problems need time.

Some answers haven’t arrived yet.

Some doors will open when they are ready.

And some things that feel terribly important this morning may not matter nearly as much by Friday.

We have a habit of wanting everything settled.

We want the question answered, the disagreement resolved, the bill paid, the project finished, the decision made and tomorrow neatly arranged before breakfast.

Life rarely cooperates.

It arrives one day at a time.

Maybe there is wisdom in learning to live the same way.

One day.

One conversation.

One responsibility.

One cup of coffee at a time.

There will always be unfinished business somewhere in our lives. There will always be something we wish we could change, something we are waiting for, and something we don’t completely understand.

That doesn’t mean today cannot still be a good day.

A good day doesn’t require a perfect life.

Sometimes a good day is simply one where we laughed once, helped somebody, accomplished one useful thing, ate something we enjoyed and made it home safely.

That may not sound extraordinary.

But after enough years have passed, we begin to understand that those ordinary days were the extraordinary ones.

So this morning, don’t demand too much from yourself before the coffee has even cooled.

You don’t have to solve everything today.

Just take care of today.

Tomorrow will bring its own cup.

Have a wonderful morning. May your coffee be warm, your worries be light, and may you find something good waiting for you somewhere along the way

Former players, colleagues remember Wayne Martin as mentor, ‘second father’

youtube https://www.wkyt.com/2026/09/03/former-players-colleagues-remember-wayne-martin-mentor-second-father

Morning Coffee — The Things We Carry Forward

September 4, 2026September 1, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

The ordinary moments of life often leave the deepest impressions. A familiar phrase, an old memory, or a simple act of kindness can become something we carry with us for years—and eventually pass along to someone else.

September 4, 2026

There is something comforting about the first cup of coffee in the morning.

Before the phone starts ringing, before the television begins telling us what happened while we slept, and before the responsibilities of the day start lining up at the door, there are those few quiet minutes when the world seems willing to wait.

I think we need those moments.

man in white crew neck t shirt holding a phone — _{^{Photo by Mikhail Nilov on Pexels.com}}

This morning, as I sat with my coffee, I found myself thinking about how much of our lives we carry forward without even realizing it.

~~~

A phrase our father used to say.

A recipe our mother never bothered writing down because she simply knew how much of everything belonged in the bowl.

The way a grandparent waved from the porch.

The sound of an old screen door closing behind us.

The advice of a friend that didn’t seem particularly important when it was given, but somehow became wisdom twenty years later.

~~~

We spend so much of our lives believing we are moving forward and leaving yesterday behind.

But I don’t think that’s really how life works.

We carry yesterday with us.

Not all of it, thankfully. Time has a merciful way of softening some things and allowing others to fade. But the pieces that shaped us remain tucked away in places we don’t always recognize.

They appear when we catch ourselves saying something exactly the way one of our parents said it.

They show themselves when we perform some small kindness because once, long ago, someone did the same thing for us.

Sometimes they appear in the strangest places—a song on the radio, the smell of rain, an old photograph, or the sound of coffee being poured into a familiar cup.

And suddenly, someone or someplace we haven’t thought about in years is sitting right there beside us again.

Maybe that is one of life’s quieter gifts.

The people we have loved never completely leave the road we are traveling. They simply stop walking beside us in the way they once did.

Instead, they travel within us.

Their lessons become part of our decisions.

Their laughter becomes part of our memories.

Their kindness becomes something we pass along to somebody who may never know where it originally came from.

And eventually, pieces of us will travel the same way.

Someone will remember something we said.

Someone will tell one of our stories.

Someone might pour a cup of coffee one morning and smile because something reminded them of us.

That is why the ordinary moments matter so much.

We are always leaving something behind.

A word.

A kindness.

A story.

A memory.

So while you enjoy your coffee this morning, remember that the smallest things you do today may become something another person carries with them for years.

Make them worth carrying.

Have a wonderful morning, and may your coffee be warm, your memories gentle, and your day filled with something worth remembering.

Morning Coffee ––– Don’t Rush The Morning

September 3, 2026August 31, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

The world may be ready to rush us into the day, but mornings deserve a gentler beginning. Sometimes the best way to prepare for everything ahead is to slow down, enjoy the coffee, and simply notice the quiet moments before the day begins.

September 3, 2o26

Good Morning,

hand holding coffee cup reading good mood juice — _{^{Photo by Connor Scott McManus on Pexels.com}}

The coffee is poured, the day is waiting, and somewhere out there the world has already decided we should be in a hurry.

There is always something waiting for us.

A message that needs answering.

A chore that needs finishing.

A place we are supposed to be.

A problem we have convinced ourselves must be solved before breakfast.

We spend so much of our lives rushing toward the next thing that sometimes we forget to notice the thing we are standing in.

This morning.

This cup of coffee.

This moment.

I think mornings were meant to be entered gently.

Not attacked.

Not conquered.

Not treated like the starting gun at a race.

There is something about those first quiet minutes of the day that belongs only to us.

Before the telephone rings.

Before the television begins telling us what went wrong overnight.

Before somebody somewhere needs something from us.

There is that little pocket of time when the house is still quiet and the coffee is warm, when we can sit for a moment and remember that simply being here is enough.

I have noticed through the years that some of the best mornings are the ones when absolutely nothing happens.

No emergency.

No unexpected visitor.

No major announcement.

Just the familiar sounds of life beginning again.

Maybe a dog stretching nearby.

A refrigerator humming in the kitchen.

A bird announcing itself outside the window.

The soft clink of a spoon against a coffee cup.

Things so ordinary we hardly notice them.

Yet those are often the sounds we miss most when life changes.

We are always being told to make every minute count.

But perhaps every minute does not need to accomplish something.

Some minutes are allowed to simply exist.

Some are meant for sitting quietly.

Some are meant for remembering.

Some are meant for staring out the window while holding a warm cup between your hands and thinking absolutely nothing important at all.

There is value in that too.

Life will begin asking things from you soon enough.

The day will pick up speed.

There will be appointments, responsibilities, decisions and probably at least one thing that does not go according to plan.

But none of that has arrived yet.

Right now, it is morning.

And for these few minutes, you are allowed to simply be here.

So drink your coffee before it gets cold.

Watch the morning arrive.

Let the world wait just a little while.

Because sometimes the best way to prepare yourself for everything waiting ahead is to begin the day without rushing toward any of it.

Have a great day from benandsteve.com, and remember—

You do not have to race through every moment. Some of the best parts of life are found when we slow down long enough to notice them

Morning Coffee — The Things We Carry Forward

September 1, 2026August 31, 2026Benjamin1 Comment

We carry pieces of the people who have traveled through our lives — their lessons, laughter, kindness, and even their little habits. This morning’s coffee is about remembering what others left with us and considering what we might leave behind for someone else.

September 1, 2026

There is something comforting about the first cup of coffee in the morning.

_{^{Hanks Coffee Shop sign, 4th by libraryofcongress is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0}}

Before the telephone rings, before the television begins telling us what happened overnight, and before the world starts asking something from us, there are those few quiet moments when we can simply sit and think.

I have come to believe those moments are more valuable than we realize.

We spend much of our lives collecting things. Not necessarily possessions, but memories, lessons, sayings, habits, friendships, disappointments, victories, and even a few regrets.

Some of them we carry without realizing it.

A phrase our father used to say.

Something our mother taught us without ever sitting us down and calling it a lesson.

The way an old friend laughed.

A song that suddenly takes us back forty years.

The smell of coffee brewing in a kitchen that no longer exists.

Life has an interesting way of packing our suitcase for us.

By the time we reach a certain age, we discover that we are carrying pieces of nearly everyone who has traveled beside us.

And perhaps that is one of life’s greatest gifts.

People do not entirely leave us when they are gone.

They remain in the things they taught us, the stories we tell about them, the kindness they showed us, and sometimes even in those little irritating habits we swore we would never adopt — until one morning we catch ourselves doing exactly the same thing.

That is when you have to smile.

Because somehow, without noticing, yesterday has quietly found its way into today.

So as you enjoy your coffee this morning, think about the people who helped pack your suitcase.

Remember the ones who taught you something worthwhile.

And when the opportunity comes today, leave something good behind for someone else to carry.

A kind word.

A little patience.

A helping hand.

A good story.

Because years from now, when someone else is sitting quietly over their morning coffee, you just might be one of the memories that makes them smile.

And that wouldn’t be such a bad thing to leave behind.

Have a great day from benandsteve.com — and may there always be enough coffee for one more story.

☕ Morning Coffee ––– The Things We Don’t Notice

August 31, 2026August 29, 2026Benjamin1 Comment

Some of life’s most meaningful moments are the ones we barely notice while they are happening. This Morning Coffee is a reminder to appreciate the quiet, ordinary moments before they become the memories we miss most.

August 31, 2026

There are mornings when nothing remarkable happens.

The coffee brews. The house slowly wakes up. A dog stretches somewhere nearby. A car passes down the street. Maybe the sun finds its way through the blinds and lands across the floor in that familiar place it always seems to find.

man sitting by table and drinking from pitcher — _{^{Photo by Lucas Andrade on Pexels.com}} **Somedays you need a cup. Somedays, you need two. And, somedays you need the whole damn pot!**

Nothing extraordinary.

And yet, I have come to believe these may be some of the most important mornings we are given.

We spend so much of our lives waiting for something significant to happen. We look forward to birthdays, vacations, reunions, holidays, accomplishments and celebrations. We mark the big moments on calendars and take photographs so we will remember them.

But most of life happens somewhere in between.

It happens while we are standing at the kitchen counter waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

It happens during the quiet conversation across the breakfast table.

It happens when someone asks, “Did you sleep okay?”

It happens when the dog follows you from one room to another for absolutely no reason other than the fact that wherever you are seems to be where he wants to be.

These moments rarely announce themselves as important.

There is no music playing in the background.

Nobody takes a photograph.

There is no ceremony.

And yet someday, these may be the moments we miss the most.

I think that is one of the lessons age quietly teaches us. The ordinary days we once hurried through eventually become the memories we would gladly revisit.

The sound of someone laughing in another room.

A familiar chair sitting beside the window.

A favorite coffee cup.

Someone calling your name from the other end of the house.

Things that once seemed ordinary somehow become treasures after enough years have passed.

Maybe that is why I have learned to appreciate mornings like this one.

There is coffee in the cup.

There are people I care about somewhere in this world.

There are memories behind me and, God willing, a few more waiting ahead.

And for the moment, nothing particularly remarkable is happening.

Which, when you think about it, is something rather remarkable itself.

So this morning, while you drink your coffee, take a look around.

There may be something happening right now that someday you will give almost anything to experience one more time.

Sometimes the best parts of life are the ones we almost failed to notice.

Have a great day from benandsteve.com — and remember, ordinary moments have a way of becoming extraordinary memories.

Morning Coffee — The Sunday Coffee Pot

August 30, 2026August 29, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Sunday coffee has a way of slowing the world down. Sometimes the best thing we can do before another week begins is sit quietly, sip slowly, and remember how much there still is to be thankful for.

August 30, 2026

coffee in white mug on magazines — _{^{Photo by Loow Invernissi on Pexels.com}}

Sunday coffee tastes different.

I don’t know that there is anything scientific behind that statement. The beans are the same. The water comes from the same faucet. The coffee pot certainly hasn’t learned what day of the week it is.

But somehow, Sunday morning coffee knows.

It knows there is no reason to rush.

The coffee pot can sit there on the counter and quietly do its job while the rest of the house slowly decides whether it is ready to join the day.

There are mornings when coffee is practically a piece of emergency equipment. You pour it while looking at the clock, searching for your keys, wondering where you left your glasses, and trying to remember whatever important thing you promised yourself the night before that you absolutely would not forget.

Sunday coffee doesn’t seem interested in any of that.

Sunday coffee says, Sit down.

The world will still be there in ten minutes.

Maybe that is one of the little gifts we have forgotten how to appreciate.

I often find myself reflecting on the Sundays of my childhood, especially those quiet early mornings when only my father and I were awake.

The test pattern had just disappeared from our black-and-white television, and the first program of the morning was the children’s show Davey and Goliath. It was followed by a gospel music program featuring the Florida Boys. I enjoyed both, although the second one was certainly aimed more toward my dad’s age group than mine.

When the gospel program ended, Dad would usually look at me and say, “Let’s go.”

Most Sundays, he already had a few sacks of groceries packed and ready to deliver around the southwest part of town, where much of Binger’s Black community lived. We had chickens—hundreds of them, at least it seemed that way to me as a child—along with cattle and pigs. My father shared what we had with people he believed truly needed it.

As we made those rounds, he would sometimes give me one of his little lessons.

“You don’t see a single one of them getting commodities at City Hall when they’re handing them out,” he would say. “Nope. It’s all these fine-to-do white people.”

There was always just a little preaching mixed into his words.

Even at that young age, I understood what he was showing me. I had already begun to recognize the hypocrisy he was talking about—the difference between what people said about others and what was actually taking place right in front of us.

Once our morning deliveries were finished, we would stop and buy the Sunday newspaper from the sidewalk vending machine. Dad would toss it into the pickup, and then we would head for the only café in town open on Sunday morning.

That was where Dad gathered what I now jokingly call his weekly community intelligence.

He listened.

He visited.

He heard who was doing what, who was upset with whom, whose crops were doing well, whose family was having trouble, and whatever else happened to be making its way through town that morning. Then, during the following week, he could use that information to maneuver his way through conversations in the barbershop.

And I had my own use for it.

Come Monday morning, I could walk onto the school playground and tell my classmates what I had heard their neighbors talking about over Sunday breakfast.

For a kid with a speech impediment, having a little inside information turned out to be a surprisingly useful way to keep a conversation going.

We spend so much of our lives preparing for the next thing that we sometimes fail to notice the thing we are living right now.

The coffee pot understands none of this, of course.

It simply sits there.

A little steam rises.

The kitchen begins to smell familiar.

A cup gets filled.

And for a few moments, nothing else is required of us.

There was a time when Sundays seemed almost designed around slowing down. Stores opened later. Families gathered for dinner. Church bells rang. Newspapers were thicker. People sat on porches longer.

Even the telephone seemed to understand that Sunday morning was not the appropriate time to cause trouble.

Today, the world rarely takes a day off.

Our phones buzz.

The news keeps moving.

Someone somewhere desperately wants us to know about a sale ending at midnight.

But the old coffee pot still offers the same invitation it always has.

Stay awhile.

Listen to the quiet.

Think about the people you love.

Remember the ones who once sat across the table from you.

Be thankful for those who still do.

And maybe leave a little room in your day for absolutely nothing important at all.

Because sometimes doing nothing important is exactly what the soul needs.

So this Sunday morning, pour another cup.

Let the coffee pot keep warm whatever is left behind.

And before you hurry into another week, give yourself permission to sit quietly with the life you already have.

It may not be perfect.

It may not always be easy.

But somewhere between the first sip and the bottom of the cup, you might discover there is still quite a bit worth being thankful for.

Have a wonderful Sunday from benandsteve.com — and may your coffee be hot, your morning be peaceful, and nobody ask you to do anything important until at least the second cup.

☕ Morning Coffee ––– Look How Far You’ve Come

August 26, 2026August 20, 2026Benjamin1 Comment

We spend so much time looking at how far we have left to go that we sometimes forget the miles already behind us. This morning’s coffee is a reminder to turn around occasionally and appreciate just how far you’ve come.

August 26, 2026

Most mornings, we look ahead.

a person holding a plastic cup with drinking straw — _{^{Photo by Czapp Árpád on Pexels.com}}

We think about what needs to be done today, what is waiting for us tomorrow, and where we hope to be sometime down the road.

We don’t often turn around and look behind us.

Maybe we should.

There are roads you’ve already traveled that once frightened you.

There were problems you were certain you couldn’t solve.

There were nights you wondered how you would make it until morning.

There were changes you didn’t ask for, goodbyes you weren’t ready to say, and circumstances you never imagined would become part of your story.

Yet here you are.

Coffee in hand.

Another morning.

Still going.

We have a habit of measuring ourselves by how far we have left to go instead of recognizing how far we have already come.

It’s a little like climbing a hill while staring only at the top.

Every step reminds you that you aren’t there yet.

But turn around for a moment.

Look at the distance behind you.

Suddenly, those little steps don’t seem so little anymore.

Life is like that.

Growth rarely announces itself while it’s happening.

We simply get up each morning and keep going.

We learn.

We adjust.

We stumble.

We get back up.

And somewhere along the way, without realizing it, we become stronger than the person who first started down the road.

Maybe you’re not where you hoped you would be by now.

That’s all right.

Perhaps there are things you still want to accomplish, relationships you want to mend, places you want to see, or pieces of yourself you’re still trying to understand.

Keep going.

But every once in a while, turn around.

Remember the things you’ve survived.

Remember the lessons you’ve learned.

Remember the people you’ve loved and the people who loved you along the way.

Give yourself credit for the miles already traveled.

You earned every one of them.

Sometimes we need to stop asking, “How much farther?” and take a moment to say, “Look how far I’ve come.”

So this morning, before you hurry toward whatever is waiting ahead, sit with your coffee for another minute.

Look back down the road.

That person standing there in your memories had no idea whether they would make it this far.

But they did.

You did.

And today, the road continues.

Now, let’s have another cup before we get moving.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com

Morning Coffee — And Then Tuesday Came…

August 25, 2026August 13, 2026Benjamin2 Comments

Sometimes the best thing a morning can bring is absolutely nothing extraordinary. An ordinary Tuesday, a familiar chair, a dog underfoot, and a warm cup of coffee can remind us that the everyday moments are often the ones holding our lives together.

Morning Coffee — August 25, 2026

By Benjamin Groff II GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

August 25, 2026

There is something wonderfully dependable about an ordinary Tuesday.

elegant coffee mug with coffee beans on dark background — _{^{Photo by Nikhil Choudhary on Pexels.com}}

It doesn’t arrive with a marching band. There are usually no balloons tied to the mailbox, nobody sends you a card congratulating you for making it, and unless you’ve made special plans, Tuesday doesn’t expect very much from you.

It simply shows up.

And sometimes, that is exactly what we need.

This morning, the coffee pot doesn’t know where I’ve been. It doesn’t care how many miles I’ve traveled, what happened yesterday, or what might be waiting tomorrow.

Its job is remarkably simple.

Make coffee.

I appreciate that kind of dependability.

There are times in our lives when everything seems important. Every telephone call matters. Every appointment has to be remembered. Every mile has a destination, and every day on the calendar has something written beside it.

Then eventually, along comes an ordinary morning.

You wake up.

You shuffle toward the kitchen.

You put on the coffee.

Maybe the dog looks at you as though breakfast is already fifteen minutes late.

You look out the window and discover that the world managed to keep turning while you were asleep.

And suddenly the biggest decision facing you might be whether you want another cup.

Those ordinary mornings don’t receive enough credit.

We spend so much of our lives waiting for the big things—the vacation, the birthday, the reunion, the promotion, the holiday, the celebration—that we sometimes overlook the hundreds of perfectly ordinary days holding everything together.

But those are the days where most of life actually happens.

Tuesday morning coffee.

A familiar chair.

A dog underfoot.

Someone you love somewhere nearby.

A little sunlight coming through the window.

Nothing remarkable enough to make the evening news, but everything important enough to make a life.

Maybe that’s why I’ve grown to appreciate ordinary things so much.

They don’t demand anything from us.

They simply remind us that we’re still here.

There are chores to do today. There will probably be something that doesn’t go according to plan. Somebody somewhere will irritate us. Something will make us laugh. We’ll forget why we walked into a room at least once, and we’ll probably remember something important five minutes after we should have remembered it.

In other words, it should be a perfectly normal day.

And this morning, that sounds pretty good to me.

So here’s to Tuesday.

Here’s to the coffee pot doing exactly what it was designed to do.

Here’s to familiar faces, ordinary conversations, dogs who believe every day should revolve around them, and all those little moments we rarely recognize as blessings until someday we miss them.

You don’t need something extraordinary to happen today for today to matter.

Sometimes the ordinary day is the gift.

Pour yourself another cup.

Tuesday has arrived.

And that’s news enough for this morning.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com

Morning Coffee – When You Need A Post Funeral Cry…And It Involves Betty White!

August 24, 2026August 20, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

August 24, 2026

Today’s coffee is taking a slightly different route. Instead of our usual routine, let’s wander past the living room and settle at the kitchen table for a genuine, heart-to-heart chat.

When you’re preparing for a monumental life event—or carrying the weight of a major loss—it’s easy to get so consumed by the details that you completely forget to make room for yourself. But eventually, a quiet demand surfaces: you have to check in with your own soul.

Sometimes that moment looks like spilling your guts over coffee with a close friend. Other times, it’s shutting out the world to lose yourself in a book. Or maybe it’s that solitary drive where a single song hits the radio, hitting a hidden nerve and giving you permission to finally let the tears flow.

Grief isn’t a neat, linear line. We navigate through denial, anger, bargaining, blame, and eventually, acceptance. Along that winding road, sight and sound often act as our gentlest guides. A song can break through our defenses in an instant, but a powerful movie can do the exact same thing.

There have been times when I thought I had processed the death of a loved one, only to realize years later that watching a specific scene on screen was the final key to truly letting go. Which brings me to the real heart of this morning’s conversation.

The other day, one of my favorite writers posted a simple question: What was the last movie that made you cry?

It took me a millisecond to answer: The Lost Valentine, starring Betty White.

Even though it was made years before she passed away, I didn’t discover it until after her death, which made watching it even more emotional. It’s a classic Hallmark tearjerker, but as anyone who knows me will tell you, it takes a massive, deeply moving story to get me invested in a movie—let alone shed a tear.

If you’re in the mood for a genuine emotional breakdown, put down your phone, close your laptop, and give it a watch. If you aren’t reaching for the tissues like a church lady at a revival by the end, something is seriously wrong!

Here’s the trailer to get you primed: The Lost Valentine, starring Betty White

Morning Coffee — Morning Coffee — August 21, 2026

August 21, 2026August 12, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

“We are remembering our mother over coffee this year. It is her first birthday since she has been gone—the first birthday we have not been able to celebrate with her. But we will celebrate her, remembering the life she lived and the memories she left behind.”

By Benjamin Groff II GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

August 21, 2026

This morning’s coffee tastes a little different.

We’re in Oklahoma.

^{_{Marjorie and her sister Opal Mae Burke}}

Yesterday, Steve and I carried my mother across the miles, with Otis faithfully keeping watch beside her. Somewhere along the way, the landscape began changing into something familiar.

Home.

It’s an interesting word, isn’t it?

We spend much of our lives deciding where home is. We move. We build lives elsewhere. We find people we love and create new homes with them. Yet there are places buried so deeply within us that merely seeing the countryside can awaken memories we didn’t realize were still there.

Today, Mom rests in Elk City.

It is a town woven into Steve’s and my story because this is where we met in 1982. We couldn’t have known then where the road ahead would take us.

And we certainly couldn’t have imagined that more than forty years later we would return together carrying my mother on the final miles of her journey.

Tomorrow will be different.

Tomorrow we will travel through country filled with family history.

We will take Mom near Sentinel, past the land where her parents made their home during the 1930s. We will continue toward Cordell, where my own story began, and then east toward Binger—the community where so much of our family’s life unfolded.

Tomorrow, my mother’s journey ends beside my father.

But not today.

Today is for remembering.

Today is for another cup of coffee, another Oklahoma morning, and the realization that sometimes going home isn’t about returning to a house.

Sometimes it is simply about returning to the people and places that made us who we are.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com

Morning Coffee — The Places That Hold Our Names

August 20, 2026August 19, 2026Benjamin2 Comments

Some places hold more than memories—they hold the names of people who helped make us who we are. This morning in Elk City, Oklahoma, Steve and I spend a little time with family, remember those who came before us, and reflect on the place where our story together began nearly forty-four years ago.

August 20, 2026

By Benjamin Groff II GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

There is something different about having your morning coffee in a place that already knows so much of your story.

This morning, Steve and I should be waking up in Elk City, Oklahoma.

Couple walking with a cat past an Oklahoma farm at sunset — A couple walks home along a farm road as the sun sets over rural Oklahoma.

We thought yesterday’s miles would be behind us for a little while. Mom would have made the journey with us from Arizona, across New Mexico and Texas, and back into Oklahoma, with Otis faithfully carrying out his special assignment of watching over her along the way. Today, however, we aren’t quite there yet. We stopped in Tucumcari—the roadside signs finally got us. Tucumcari tonight! If you’ve ever traveled Route 66 or Interstate 40, you know what I am talking about. We thought we would give Mother one more night in a Best Western.

Today we will hurry on our way just as soon as Steve reloads the car so the weight is properly distributed. If you have seen those television advertisements about “becoming your parents,” they are so true—especially when I watch the things my husband does!

My sister Twila will be waiting for us, along with my niece Amanda, her son Trysen, and other family members and friends. I sent a message last night saying we were on our way, and that the reason for arriving a day behind schedule was “due to our late mother.” I don’t know if they picked up on the play on words. It was what my dad claimed anytime we were late to a family function, and I was hoping someone would catch it.

Some of these family members we haven’t seen in a while. There will undoubtedly be stories told that everyone has heard before—and hopefully a few that somebody has forgotten.

Those are usually the best ones.

Once we arrive, we will probably be escorted through local cemeteries. I know that might sound like a strange way to spend part of a day, but I have never thought of cemeteries as entirely sad places. There is sadness there, certainly. But there is also history.

There are names carved into stones that once belonged to voices. There are dates representing entire lifetimes squeezed between a beginning and an ending. Behind those names are people who worked, worried, laughed, argued, raised families, paid bills, celebrated birthdays, sat around kitchen tables—and probably drank their share of morning coffee.

Some of those names belong to people we loved.

Years ago, Steve and I began our life together here in Elk City. In October of 1982, neither of us could possibly have known just how long the road ahead would be. We couldn’t have imagined all the places it would take us, the people we would meet, the homes we would make, or the memories we would collect. Yet here we are, nearly forty-four years later, back where so much of our story began.

And someday, when our travels are finally finished, this is where we have arranged to return. Steve and I have made arrangements to be laid to rest here in Elk City, so while we’re in town, we’ll check on our cemetery plots and make sure everything is squared away with the cemetery authorities.

That isn’t something I find particularly gloomy. Actually, I find a certain peace in it.

There is something comforting about knowing where the road eventually leads—not because you’re anxious to reach the destination, but because it allows you to spend less time worrying about the ending and more time enjoying everything between here and there. And Steve and I still have plenty of road ahead of us.

For now, there are people to visit. There are stories to tell. There are graves where we may stand quietly for a moment and remember. And there is my mother, traveling with us toward the place where, in two days, she will finally be laid beside my father.

Perhaps that is what today is really about. Coming home. Mom is coming home.

Steve and I have come back to the town where our life together began, surrounded by generations of people whose lives helped make ours possible.

This morning, I’ll raise my coffee cup to all of them—the ones sitting around the table with us and the ones whose chairs have been empty for many years. Because family isn’t measured only by who can still answer when you call their name. Sometimes family is measured by the names we refuse to forget.

And maybe that’s one of the reasons we visit old cemeteries. We aren’t visiting death. We’re visiting lives.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II

Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com

Morning Coffee — The Last Ride.

August 19, 2026August 12, 2026Benjamin1 Comment

There are times in ones life, when going home is all about visiting relatives. Then there are times when, going home is all about taking what is left of life back with you.

By Benjamin Groff II GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

August 19, 2026

There are some journeys in life you know you will remember every mile of.

This morning, Steve and I are carrying my mother home. She will be going to see her daughter Twila.

Her name is Marjorie Bernice Groff, and after 95 years of living, loving, raising a family, making mistakes, making memories, and leaving pieces of herself in all of us, she is taking one final ride from Arizona to Oklahoma.

_{^{[Left to Right: Marjorie Bernice (McWhirter) Groff, with her parents G.W.(Bill) McWhirter, and Bernice Mae McWhirter}}]

And we’re not hurrying.

Her special carrier is safely buckled beside our trustworthy little traveling companion, Otis. He has been given an important assignment for this trip: protect Grandma.

I have no doubt he takes the responsibility seriously.

We will cross Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and finally enter Oklahoma. Along the way, when there is something worth seeing, we’ll make sure Mom gets to see it. An overlook, a beautiful stretch of country, an unusual roadside attraction—whatever catches our attention.

After all, when you’re taking your mother on her last road trip, there is no reason to rush.

Maybe that sounds a little unusual to some people. But grief has taught me that ceremony doesn’t always have to happen inside a church or beside a grave. Sometimes ceremony is simply two people, a little dog, an open highway, and someone precious riding beside you.

Tonight, we will reach Elk City, Oklahoma.

That seems especially fitting.

It was there, in 1982, that Steve and I first met. More than four decades later, the two of us will arrive there together carrying my mother home.

Life has a strange way of bringing roads back around to where they began.

So this morning’s coffee is going into a travel mug.

There are miles ahead of us.

Mom has one last Oklahoma sunset waiting for her.

And Otis has Grandma to protect.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com

☕ Morning Coffee ––– You May Be Someone’s Good Memory

August 18, 2026August 12, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

There are probably people carrying a good memory of something you did long ago, even though you’ve forgotten all about it. This morning’s coffee is a reminder that the smallest kindness can become part of someone else’s story.

August 18, 2026

a cup of coffee with a smiley face drawn on it — ^{_{Photo by Ersan Yılmaz on Pexels.com}}

There are people from years ago whom I still remember for the smallest reasons.

They didn’t save my life.

They didn’t give me some great piece of wisdom.

They may not even remember me.

But I remember them.

I remember the person who took an extra moment to explain something when I didn’t understand.

The person who laughed with me when I needed to laugh.

The person who noticed I was having a difficult day and asked, “Are you doing okay?”

The person who poured another cup of coffee without being asked.

Funny, isn’t it?

We often think we have to do something extraordinary to make a difference in somebody’s life.

Most of the time, we don’t.

Sometimes we are remembered simply because we were kind when kindness was needed.

There are probably people walking around today carrying a memory of something you once did for them.

You may have forgotten it completely.

They haven’t.

Maybe you encouraged someone when they were ready to quit.

Maybe you sat beside somebody who didn’t want to be alone.

Maybe you made a child laugh.

Maybe you told someone they were doing a good job when nobody else bothered to notice.

To you, it may have been nothing more than an ordinary moment.

To them, it became part of their story.

That’s something worth thinking about over coffee this morning.

We spend a lot of time wondering what people think of us.

Perhaps a better question is:

How do people feel after they’ve been around us?

Do they leave feeling a little better?

A little more hopeful?

A little less alone?

Because long after people forget what we wore, what we owned, or how important we thought we were, they often remember how we treated them.

And someday, years from now, someone may be sitting at their own kitchen table with a cup of coffee remembering you.

Not because you did something remarkable.

But because, on an ordinary day when they needed it, you were kind.

Never underestimate the possibility that one small kindness from you may become someone else’s lifelong memory.

So today, give somebody something good to remember.

It doesn’t have to cost a thing.

A smile will do.

A kind word will do.

Taking a moment to listen will do.

Sometimes the smallest things stay with us the longest.

Now, how about another cup?

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com

☕ Morning Coffee ––– Leave a Little Room for Something Good

August 17, 2026August 12, 2026Benjamin1 Comment

Don’t decide how the day will end before it has even begun. This morning’s coffee is a reminder to move yesterday’s worries over and leave a little room at the table for something good.

August 17, 2026

We sometimes wake up already expecting trouble.

guests at the restaurant tables — _{^{Photo by Joaquin Carfagna on Pexels.com}}

Before our feet touch the floor, we are thinking about yesterday’s problems, today’s responsibilities, and tomorrow’s worries.

Then we pour the coffee and carry all of them to the table with us.

That is quite a crowd for so early in the morning.

I wonder how many good things we miss because we have already decided what kind of day we are going to have.

We tell ourselves the meeting will be difficult.

The person won’t call.

The answer will be no.

Traffic will be terrible.

Something will probably go wrong.

And sometimes we’re right.

But not always.

Every now and then, life surprises us.

The telephone rings, and it is someone we have been thinking about.

A stranger holds the door and smiles.

Someone says something kind when we need to hear it most.

A problem we have worried about for days works itself out with surprisingly little trouble.

Or maybe nothing dramatic happens at all.

Maybe the sun simply comes through the kitchen window at just the right angle, the coffee tastes especially good, and for a few minutes everything feels all right with the world.

Those little moments count too.

We cannot control everything waiting for us today. There will always be things we would rather avoid and circumstances we cannot change.

But we can leave a little room for the possibility that something good might happen.

Hope doesn’t require us to pretend that difficulties don’t exist.

It simply asks us not to decide the ending before the day has had a chance to begin.

So while you’re sitting there with your coffee this morning, move yesterday’s worries over just a little bit.

You don’t have to throw them away.

Just don’t give them the whole table.

Save an empty chair for something unexpected.

Leave a little room for laughter.

Leave a little room for kindness.

Leave a little room for somebody to surprise you.

And most of all, leave a little room for something good.

Because this day hasn’t happened before.

You don’t know everything it is bringing with it.

Don’t let yesterday convince you that you already know how today will end.

Now take another sip.

Morning has only just arrived.

Let’s give it a chance.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com

☕ Morning Coffee – Some Mornings Are Meant to Be Ordinary

August 16, 2026August 12, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Not every morning needs to be extraordinary. Sometimes the quiet, ordinary moments—the warm coffee, familiar voices, and people nearby—are the ones we eventually miss the most. Come sit for a while. The coffee is ready…

By Benjamin Groff II GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

August 16, 2026

Not every morning arrives carrying a lesson.

charming cafe conversation in scenic european town — _{^{Photo by Serge Hulne on Pexels.com}}

Sometimes morning is simply morning.

The coffee is brewing. The house is quiet. Somewhere outside, a bird is carrying on a conversation with another bird that apparently has a great deal to say.

And nothing particularly important is happening.

We have become so accustomed to looking for significance that we sometimes overlook the beauty of an ordinary day.

We celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, graduations, promotions, and all those other days we circle on the calendar. We take photographs. We gather people together. We remember them years later.

But when we look back on our lives, something interesting happens.

We begin missing the ordinary days too.

We remember sitting at the kitchen table while someone we loved stood at the counter.

We remember hearing their footsteps coming down the hallway.

We remember the sound of the screen door closing.

We remember someone asking, “Want another cup?”

At the time, none of it seemed important enough to remember.

Yet somehow we did.

Maybe that is because a life isn’t made mostly from extraordinary moments.

It is made from thousands upon thousands of ordinary ones.

The morning somebody handed you a cup of coffee.

The afternoon you sat on the porch doing absolutely nothing.

The evening everyone was home and nobody realized how precious that would someday become.

We didn’t know we were making memories.

We thought we were simply living.

Perhaps that is something worth remembering this morning.

You don’t have to accomplish something remarkable today for today to matter.

You don’t need a celebration.

You don’t need an announcement.

You don’t even need a particularly good story to tell when the day is finished.

Sometimes it is enough that the people you care about are nearby, the coffee is warm, and another morning has found its way to your door.

So don’t hurry through all of it.

Take an extra sip.

Listen to the sounds around you.

Notice who’s sitting across the table.

Someday you may discover that the mornings you once thought were ordinary were some of the most precious mornings you ever had.

The ordinary moments of today may become the treasured memories of tomorrow.

And that seems like a pretty good reason to pour another cup.

Until tomorrow, may your coffee stay warm, your memories stay close, and your hope stay strong. The coffee will be waiting again tomorrow, and I hope you’ll be here to share it with me.

— Benjamin Groff II
Morning Coffee at benandsteve.com