The Taming of the Coffee Monkey

Hey little fellow, want to jump on
my shoulder for a ride?

Occasionally I notice that one of my habits is becoming a need that makes demands. This one I call Coffee Monkey. Coffee Monkey usually starts out as a cute little guy that hangs around making me laugh. I invite him to ride on my shoulder and he delights me with his antics and flings poo at my doldrums; sending them fleeing as I watch with a grin. For a while Coffee Monkey and I get along splendidly, but then by degrees my cute little monkey grows fat and unruly, jumping up and down, scratching my neck and screeching in my ear. Once I catch myself going out of my way shut him up, I know its time to release him back into the wild.

And so it was for Coffee Monkey.

As a mom, one of my primary parental objectives is to teach my kids self control. It is a long and arduous process that is met with more setbacks than successes at this stage. Then as I'm going out of my way to appease Coffee Monkey I realize that I too, must continually practice and hone my self control skills. So I set about to go without my daily cup for a week. I figured starving him out would send him off foraging elsewhere.

My normal drink is a “Tall Decaf Brewed Coffee Please”. To which I normally hear, “Sorry we're out of decaf can I make you an americano instead? Or if you don't mind waiting I can do a pour-over.” So lately my drink order has become, “Tall Decaf Brewed Coffee Please, Pour Over Is Fine”. Saves time. Anyhow, since I drink decaf the caffeine wasn't really a factor for me and clearly it isn't a sugar/fat thing either. So big deal right? Wrong. I love everything about coffee, the aroma, the feel of an almost too hot to hold cup in my hand, the strong rich flavor flooding my palate. I love how the flavor varies from place to place. Peet's is my current favorite but I appreciate all their subtle differences that make them unique. I also appreciate that as far as treats go it is fairly virtuous, almost no calories with very little caffeine.

My week started out easily enough, the first two days were crazy busy and the weather was wet and cold, not conducive for our morning stroll. By Wednesday though, I was beginning to miss Coffee Monkey. We'd usually load up Berzo in the stroller and take a pleasant walk to the corner Starbucks. Along the way Berzo and I would practice our outdoor words and signs such as tree, bushes, sign, bird, dog, etc, while Coffee Monkey rode quietly on my shoulder, smug in the knowing that he’d gotten his way.

Coffee Monkey would compel me to brave the weather, and I'd find that the walk itself was a big part of the mood lifting benefits of the coffee. But without the promise of my favorite treat, the push to get out the door into the cold was lacking. My thought processes looked something like this: “I'd really like to get out. Where should we go? Park? Nah, the park is too wet and cold.. Don't need anything at the market... Been around the neighborhood so many times... Guess I could drive to the duck park, what time is it? Berzo has already been in and out of her car seat a lot this morning... Maybe we'll just go play bubbles in the cul-de-sac.” We’d play bubbles and while the fresh air is nice, I missed the vigorous walk, the impromptu conversations and the culmination: my favorite cup. Sigh.

The week ticked by at a steady pace and I persevered. Now once again, my coffee is a treat, the walk a delight and the experience a gift rather than an entitlement. Coffee Monkey is again cute and trim after his week of fasting.

Coffee Monkey can come play but I don't think I'll invite him to ride along this time.

That's what I said last time too.

Book Review: Illusions: The Adventures of A Reluctant Messiah

Powell's Books/Barnes & Noble

Richard Bach - © 1977

Richard is a barnstormer pilot of a Fleet airplane who flies out of the cornfields of the American Midwest selling ten minute rides for three dollars. His is a free existence, sleeping under the stars with a belly full of pan bread that only he can love. His unburdened mind flies with the idea that reality isn't. That men could fly if they could only forget that it was impossible. One sunny day he lands his Fleet next to a better-than-mint Travel Air 4000 and finds the teacher for whom he has been searching.

Richard rediscovers a bond of friendship with Don Shimoda that extends beyond this life. Don teaches Richard what he has yet to remember; that he can walk on water and swim through dirt; that this life is a story of our own creation from which we are meant to simply learn and enjoy.

This book tears down the fabric of reality and alters perceptions, yet it is light, entertaining and engrossing. It is a story as unlikely as an auto mechanic turned messiah, turned barnstormer from the holy lands of Indiana; a glass of spring water in a literary world polluted with the lead and chlorine of writing for the mass market.

The Impact:
Illusions is a mere 93 pages. Never before have I read 93 pages that have had so much to say or affected me so deeply. The full plot can be outlined in a handful of sentences yet there are enough original ideas to keep my mind busy for years, maybe for the rest of my life.

It has altered my perception of life. Sometimes I feel that I'm not be doing what I want to do, but I am, because I am doing it. Whatever “it” is, is a result of hundreds of conscious decisions I make every day. If I didn’t want to be doing it, I would be doing something else. Somehow I feel less trapped by my days of mommy-hood and realize that this stay-at-home life is what I really want; I am free to choose and I am choosing each day to be my kids’ caregiver. Realizing that I am the only one that has control over my life is liberating. For example, I don’t have to feed my kids, but I want to, because I want them to be healthy and happy. This fantastically simple idea changes my view of making dinner from a chore imposed on me by my family to a choice I make. (Don’t worry, I don’t see myself choosing not to feed my family one day.) It is a simple, yet a mind boggling perception shift.

This book is filled with the simplest of ideas that have never once occurred to me. It must be how 17th century scientists felt upon reading Newton’s laws of motion. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? It is so simple.”

Favorite Quotes:
Don, regarding quitting the messiah gig:
“A good messiah hates nothing and is free to walk any path he wants to walk. Well, that’s true for everybody, of course. We’re all the sons of God, or children of the Is, or ideas of the Mind, or however else you want to say it.”

Messiah’s Handbook quotes:
“Learning is finding out what you already know.”
“Doing is demonstrating that you know it.”
“Teaching is reminding others that they know just as well as you.”
“You are all learners, doers, teachers.
“You teach best what you most need to learn.”

To Smoke or Not to Smoke. Is There a Question?

A rare photo of my mom, dad and baby me.
Love this picture.

I was on a run through the park today and passed a smoker taking in the creek flowing gently beneath the bridge. A pleasant moment for her, but for the thousandth time I was somewhat taken aback by the burn in my lungs and reflexive cough as my body rejected the smoke. “Why should this be a surprise?” you ask. Good question. For the whole of my childhood I lived with, and was to a second hand degree, a smoker. At least one smoker, sometimes two (girlfriend), and sometimes Dad would lend a helping hand to a troubled soul who needed help to get back on his feet, to make three adults who smoked cigarettes in our house.

I never minded much that I lived with smokers. When a freshly lit cigarette filled the cab of my father's pickup, I thought it smelled good. At home I liked watching the smoke rise and curl in the air and thought it looked cool the way smokers could blow the smoke out of their nostrils, or let it out of their mouths and inhale the same smoke through their nostrils. I knew it was “bad” for you though and resolved to myself that I would never be a smoker. I didn't realize I already was one.

I loved sports and could never figure out why I would wheeze when running for distance or if I pushed myself a bit harder than normal. If I was anxious it compounded the problem. I thought it happened to everyone if they pushed their limits. I also thought that I just wasn't built to be a good runner. I never connected the two.

Also, being the child of a smoker automatically adds you to the WT side of the scholastic social circle. Why? Because I smelled. Bad. I didn't realize how bad it was until I visited home after moving out. Once back from the trip my newly enhanced olfactory senses demanded showers and laundry; even for the clothes that weren't worn. I remember realizing, I must have smelled like this every day at school. Admittedly, there are other attributes of my persona that compounded the problem. Such as my unkeen fashion sense, my propensity for wearing Camel Joe tee-shirts, (in WT land they were cool, I liked the colors, and well they were free) and my lack of a hair style. However, as a teenager I got a job and could afford to buy my own clothes and hair cuts; but unfortunately I could never shake the unseen fog that hung about me.

Once, while holding a pack of cigarettes for an unnamed friend of mine, (No, really! She lifted it from her mom and expected a room raid.) I decided that I should try it. Not to become a smoker, but just to gain a little understanding as to why everyone I cared for did it. There had to be something that compelled people to spend a fortune over their truncated lifetime for the privileged of smelling bad and aging prematurely.

I took a walk by myself to The Pit, (our local swimming hole) sat on a rock and lit one up with practiced expertise. (I'm observant by nature.) The cherry glowed and I pulled the first real drag into my lungs. I didn't cough. I exhaled through my nose, waited a moment, and took another. I flicked off the ashes just as if I had done it since time immeasurable and eventually flicked away the cigarette butt. (I know, I totally littered!) I thought to myself, this is stupid.

On the walk home I analyzed the results of my experiment at little more thoroughly.

Observations:

• The buzz consisted of a slight dizzy feeling. Like perhaps I spun around once, not much, not terribly pleasurable.
• My mouth tasted terrible.
• My cigarette gripping fingers smelled and my hair smelled. (Bad enough that even I could smell it.)
• I didn't feel cool, at all. I was realistic enough to know all the cigarettes in the world couldn't shroud my awkwardness in smoky tendrils of coolness.  Actually, I felt like a poseur.

Conclusion: It is indeed, stupid.

Curiosity satisfied. Test complete. Understanding imperfect. I still don't get why people do it. Perhaps people get started during their adolescence when, “Can I bum a cigarette?” is a viable pickup line. I was less interested in that particular pickup line than I was in cigarettes themselves. Or maybe overprotective parents make it alluring by trying to shelter their kids. It certainly does makes an effective mode of rebellion against protective parents. Whereas in my environment it was there always every day, and there was a general feeling of disdain for uppity non-smokers. Perhaps I am a rebel of sorts for rejecting smoking and some of the other facets of my upbringing. What is a person who rebels against rebels?

I don't get it, probably never will and I am kind of glad I don't. However, I have no such problem understanding the allure and pleasure of a cold beer on a hot day.   Speaking of which...

****
I'm not against smokers or cigarettes. As member of a free society I'm glad people have the freedom to make their own choices. I am opposed to banning smoking in private establishments like bars and restaurants. Personally, I prefer eating/drinking/working in non-smoking establishments, so that's what I do. Perhaps some ordinances on ventilation is needed, to preserve the safety of the workers, but otherwise proprietors and customers should be free to make those decision for themselves. That being said, children are not free to choose where they eat/drink/live and deserve consideration. But to their credit, all the parents I know who smoke are very cautious to keep their kids from being exposed.