The Ordinary Details of Life: Musings for a Thursday Morning over Coffee
I am
perfectly content with this morning ritual. Heat the water, two heaping scoops
of coarsely ground coffee beans (yes, I do prefer to grind my own), fill the
pot and give it a quick stir with my favorite wooden spoon and place the press
part on the tempered glass pot. Four minutes later, I push the plunger and voila!
Perfect coffee.
Funny that I should find the
preparation of a known stimulant so relaxing. I think it’s the comfort of
knowing that if you do the same thing in the same way time after time you will
get the same result. And there it is, the fine line between taking shelter and
stunting one’s growth—old wives’ tales governing the dangers of giving coffee to
children notwithstanding.
My mind wanders to a quote
erroneously attributed to Albert Einstein about the definition of insanity—doing
the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.
In my own words, “If you do what
you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always gotten.” I don’t know how
much this has to do with being crazy. I do, after all, make a fine pot of
coffee based on this principle. But there are times—many times—when altering
your approach paves the way to personal growth. I’ve learned, for example, that
if I leave my car windows down every time it rains, my seats will get wet. And
so, I’ve altered my approach. Mostly. Sometimes I forget and that’s OK. I
practice the Art of Self-Forgiveness. And anyway, that’s why God created the
towel. Not during those first essential six days of creation, of course. Things
like light, fish of the sea and fowls of the air would have taken precedence,
but probably in the following week or so. Or maybe not until after a
heart-to-heart with Noah after the flood.
“No disrespect, Sir,” said Noah, “The
dove and the rainbow were cool and all, but we could really use something to
sop up this mess.”
And the Lord said, “Let there be
Towels.” And He saw the absorbency and saw that it was Good.
Something like that.
Coffee beans and French presses
came much later—for girls like me who are grateful for life’s simple pleasures.
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