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For the record… mine was from May 1988. Not the ‘40’s. Graduation present from the guy who taught me to hunt and shoot… because percolator coffee at deer camp was a thing. And as I headed off to North Carolina for a new life… coffee was a thing.

Just ‘sayin.

Cheers!
We got two from my wife’s Grandmothers stuff.

One was a smaller 5-6 cup model and the other the big boy 9 cup or so.

Patience is best when using it.

I use the burner that simmers at about the power of a wooden match.

Let it take its time and build up to a boil.

Easy to char your brew with them.

I still think nothing beats the plug in percolators but being the sole coffee drinker in the house it would be wasted.

My daily coffee maker is a Chemex pour over.
 
Wife had a sink water purifier installed -Franke product, uses a ceramic filter.

I thought the think sucked on install because it was so fucking slow.

After about a month it was almost dying and I said get a new filter.

Opened the housing sure enough the element was still bagged in plastic.
 
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That brings back memories. Many years ago we were visiting family in Norway, and one of my cousins showed me how to make firecrackers out of the rolls, using masking tape and a rubber band for the fuse. Predictably, they didn't all go off. I pocketed one of the really big ones that hadn't, and when we were having dinner at a decently nice restaurant, I got bored. I figured I'd use the scissors of my new Swiss army knife to cut it open so I could put another rubber band in it later and try again. It was 3 or 4 rolls folded, twisted, and taped together into a fire cracker the size of a cigar, and I managed to scratch a cap and set it off at the table. I will always remember my grandpa sitting there with his spoon halfway to his mouth, with little bits of red paper all over in his white hair. And boy was it ever quiet in there. The owners came running out, thinking the Germans were back for round 2 or something. Surprisingly enough, I didn't even really get in trouble for it. I guess everyone figured I had probably learned my lesson anyway, and my fingers sure hurt. Many years later I was back at the same restaurant, and an uncle asked if I remembered that incident, like I'd somehow ever forget it.
Kristian