"The human being is a creature of habit." That's what my
mother pointed out to me long ago. When one enters a
schoolroom, a bus or the doctor's office, one tends to
gravitate to the place one sat the last time, the time before
that and the time before. If your favorite spot is occupied,
you'll compromise, but generally, you'll feel most
comfortable in your old position. Therefore, I have always
tried to find new and more interesting places to sit each
time I enter a hall or bus. Why I assumed that one should
avoid being dubbed a creature of habit, I'll never know. I
assumed that this was a weak trait by the overtones in my
mother's voice. I didn't want to consider myself a creature
of habit.
However, let's talk about what happens when we're not
hindered. lt's talk about the private areas, when one is at
home. There we have a bit more control. You're less likely to
arrive late in the kitchen one morning and find some `first-
comer' wielding the water kettle, perching on your favorite
chair, enjoying coffee from your favorite cup or spreading
the sandwiches for the kids, thus causing you to `stand in
the aisles' until the seat is vacated.
No, in your own kitchen, you govern the stove and the
counter. The procedure you've set down rolls along unchanged
for the most part. This isn't considered boring, this is
comforting, satisfying. You've got your routine. If you
wanted to change it, you could do so easily, or so you think.
You could change that schedule for something more
interesting, day after day. Or could you?
I found that when I wanted to change my breakfast, something
surprising happened. I had been eating leftover bread with
humus and some fresh tomato, cucumber or red bell pepper. I
soon began to feel that it tasted too good. No matter how
thin I tried to spread the humus, I was beginning to feel
that I was overeager to garnish credit for finishing up the
day-old bread in the house. So I decided to change the menu.
The problem was that after eating cornflakes or a hard-boiled
egg, or some other variable, I didn't feel quite satisfied
and I'd find myself topping it off with a piece of bread (or
two) with houmous and a few vegetables!
By the way, my sabra son learned to spell vegetables by
splitting it up into "Ve get a bles," which roughly
translates into "We get a blessing." Isn't that appropriate
for these gems of health from Hashem's storehouse? I finally
figured out that the second `e' is there to indicate that the
`g' is soft and not for the sake of creating a second
syllable. Thus, there are three syllables: vege / ta / bl's.
Soft `g' as in age, privilege, hinge and urge. And speaking
of urges...
My coffee consumption is two double mugs of ground coffee a
day. I'm very distraught when I miss the morning mug, as on
all fast days. I'm likewise quite droopy when I miss my
afternoon brew. I've toyed with the idea of drinking less or
less strong, or less real coffee, but I meet up with a
formidable opponent. I've noticed this especially on days
when I've eaten a meaty noon meal which postpones my habitual
four o'clock dose for a few hours.
It's incredible how my feet will carry me into the kitchen
again and again to cause me to stand in front of the kettle.
Once there, my brain registers the location and says, "O.K.!
No milk, and I don't like black coffee, so how about
something else? Something warm? Hmm... maybe an herbal tea...
maybe with honey... or maybe something else...
However, even after I've drunk `something else,' my feet will
eventually carry me back to the counter and my head will
recognize that the kettle is right in front of me, but... Boy
oh boy! Look at the clock! X number of hours left. And I
realize that the tea or whatever didn't do the trick.
So I carry my legs back to the proverbial drawing-board and
try to distract my consciousness with some urgent task,
getting involved intellectually and thus relieving the
feeling of deprivation/dissatisfaction.
After I've napped, because I can't stay awake without the
caffeine, I'm wide awake, sleepwalking into the kitchen again
to see what's doing on the hearth. Why am I standing in front
of the kettle once more? What did I want this time? Ahh, the
coffee! Just a little longer...
When the time has finally passed, I'm busy hauling out the
box of grind, spooning it carefully into the cup, adding the
boiling water and blending the concoction with a generous
portion of milk and sugar. Ahhhhhh!
Did it finish so fast? Can't be! Who snuck in and pilfered
the second half cup? There's the culprit, trying to sneak
away, over there in the mirror. What? I drank it all myself?
Did I even taste it? Did I need it? Did I really want it?
Now I'll be awake half the night!
I think I've created a monster! There's a creature of habit
lurking in her somewhere. Suddenly, I'm filled with
compassionate understanding for all of those people who
have... habits! So that's what Mama meant!
Your Editor's 2 cents worth to a dear writer hiding behind
a pseudonym
Dear `Pennee',
Why all this chest-beating about a parve habit? Let's be
objective about the two habits you've mentioned. They are not
bugaboos; there's nothing wrong with them. Why feel guilty?
Why feel you must kick these habits rather than harness them
and GET ON WITH YOUR LIVING? As a matter of fact, habit is an
excellent thing.
From our very rising and on through the day, we are supposed
to do things according to the proper routine, and even pray
in the same place! There is rote and there is routine, and
surely the second has very positive aspects to it in our
Jewish lives. Eat your breakfast and drink your coffee as you
like it; enjoy it by all means, and get on with your daily
activities without wasting your time thinking about it!
Look at all the mental energy and extra steps you are taking
in search for an afternoon cuppa coffee? Why not harness that
urge, that yetzer hora, which I argue is not bad at
all, and find a solution to your situation?
So -- Pennee, here is Tnuva's newest solution, with my own
input. `SO,' a Badatz parve soy milk product, compatible to
the pocketbook, and very good tasting. SO it will spoil
because there's too much of it? How about pouring it in an
ice-cube tray and after it has frozen, carefully removing
cubes into a plastic bag and labeling `parve'? Then you can
enjoy afternoon coffee after all your Yom Tov meals without a
twinge of conscience. (At just the right temperature!)
Your conscience might twinge you regarding mar'is ayin
- - What will People think? But you can get around this by
setting aside a special mug with a label -- Pareve Coffee.
It may be a reverse case of the pot calling the kettle black
(coffee). After all, I am a three-to-four cup-a-day
drinker...
As for the subjective side -- I want some more of your
excellent articles and divinely inspired poetry, and if
coffee is what keeps you going, go to it!
Very fondly yours,
