Pulling the Plug

Today my coffee maker died. It's been a long, difficult, and painful death for both of us. Over the last year it's tried its best to deliver me the nourishment I need to face the workday, but with less and less success, even after Pooteewheet bombarded it with vinegar and limeaway to clean out the little deposits, rendering the house uninhabitable for short stretches. I knew when it started leaving small, white chips on top of the grounds that the end was very near. This morning, when I got up, it had been running for well over an hour and the pot was only half full and a puddle of condensation surrounded the base. There was a constant whisper of steam issuing from it, but no "drip, drip, drip". While it might currently be able to power an 1880s automobile, it's of no use for making java. Sadly, I shut it off and microwaved two cups of water to pour through the grounds so that I could flush out the mud in the pot. I silently toasted it this morning as Erik filled our mugs - good night, sweet prince, may the burr of grinding coffee beans sing thee to thy rest.