It is of the $10 coffee pot that I sing.

It’s unusual to cadge a line from Virgil and the “Aeneid” for a 21st century column, but I too am talking about the deeds of humanity, if in a decidedly prosaic way.

The ancient Greek poet was writing of mankind’s most terrible and disruptive endeavor: war. I’m taking a gentle poke at something that, while certainly not as terrible as war, is disruptive in its own way: marketing.

My husband and I are at a stage in life where we don’t have to worry about a mortgage, our children or crumbling health. The mortgage is paid off, the children are grown, and poor health is still only stalking us. We have a comfortable life, and until recently had a coffeepot that not only served up a perfect cup of Joe every morning but also heated water for my husband’s daily ritual of shaving with a straight razor.

This fancy pot, with a timer and blinking blue lights, was a far cry from the enamel biggin my late uncle in Louisiana used to make his morning coffee. It was a fancy brand, and after all, don’t we deserve the best? (I learned that on television and the internet.)

Life is good.

Or it was, until one little power surge changed everything. Our fancy black plastic-and-stainless-steel coffee maker died in an electrical fizzle.

We had to have another, right away. A quick search on Amazon found us an identical replacement. Sure, it was “refurbished,” but no new ones were available. After all, this drip-pot-on-steroids is part of the American dream of other people, too.

Sure enough, the replacement arrived a few days later. The horror of making coffee in an old aluminum Mirror Ware drip pot had only lasted a little while. It was quite a burden to actually boil water and pour it into the waiting upper chamber of this ancient device, although the coffee was good.

I eagerly set up the replacement pot that very afternoon. Then, to my horror, water poured out of the bottom of the device as fast as I added it.

In a fit of rage and retribution, my husband vowed to cast aside the brand of our third pot of the same make and model. No, a new standard of caffeinated excellence would now populate our counterspace.

It makes coffee in a pot and also by the cup. Add a little blue control screen, a gaggle of buttons and the ability to pump out hot water, and you’ve got your dream pot.

That night, we set it up. My survival skills were taxed as I trimmed a paper towel to act as a filter as my husband programmed the automatic timer with a few deft keystrokes. We went to bed that night like children anticipating Christmas.

Then, the next morning, no coffee, no gurgle, no steam — no nothing. The single-cup pod worked OK, but not the big pot, although the clear water reservoir was full, the grounds were in place and the power was on.

Back to the internet.

As my husband strode out the door to sow misery at his office, he growled, “We can get a pot that turns itself on and brews a pot of coffee for ten bucks, so fix this or go buy a $10 coffee maker.”

What is it that makes us spend $100 on a coffee pot when $10 would do? Why do I drive a car that cost about what our first house did? Why are we all awash in self-imposed complications to our lives?

It’s not a new question. The Jewish Mishnah tells us, “Who is rich? One who is satisfied with his lot.” It also seems pretty silly to complain about your fancy coffee pot not working when there are people around the world — and right in my neighborhood — who are doing without.

We think we need all this stuff because the people who sell it tell us we need it. We don’t, but we think we do, and that’s enough.

So, did I follow my husband’s command? Did I return the fancy pot and embrace the simple $10 one? Not before I had a chance to sit down with this Cadillac of coffee makers and try to figure out why a man with eight years of postsecondary education couldn’t manage to brew a pot of coffee.

Later in the morning, he called me on his way back from court and demanded a situation report.

“Well,” I said tactfully. “The problem was, you didn’t pour the water into the right place to make a pot of coffee. The little clear thingy is only for the pods.”

In a testament to how much he has mellowed over the years, he roared with honest laughter.

A working coffee pot, hot water for a close shave, and a humbled husband. Life is good, and worth singing about.

Frances Coleman is a former editorial page editor of the Mobile Press-Register. Email her at [email protected] and “like” her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/prfrances.