on Tweaking the Coffee Ritual

a call for honoring the holy in the ordinary

For my entire adult life, coffee has been a saving grace and erstwhile companion.

From my college days of late night theatre production work sustained with cups of International Foods Instant Coffee whilst working on sets and wardrobe, to mall walking with a toddler in her stroller and a cup of Gloria Jean’s Coffee Bean (usually hazelnut) coffee in my hand, to the joy of meeting an internet friend for the first time at a cute coffee shop.

Coffee always connects us.

An unspoken international language of commonality in a world ever more demanding we look for what makes us different.

Though I sat down to write about what’s changed in my ritual of preparing my morning cup, it has me thinking about how my consumption of coffee has changed during the different seasons of my life.

And how, while coffee connects US to others, it also connects us to different versions of ourselves in various seasons of our lives.

“I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.”—TS Eliot

My first taste of coffee was when I was five on a summer vacation in some diner I don’t recall. But I do recall begging my mother for a cup of coffee like she and my daddy always had. Either she gave in because it was vacation or because she was tired of me pestering her, but I got my own cup and I can still picture it in my mind - a creamy colored stoneware cup with a handle paired with a matching saucer.

The waitress splashed a generous amount of coffee in the bottom of my waiting cup. My mother took a spoon and poured a heaping spoon of sugar from the tabletop container and dumped it in there. Then she handed me about four of those little creamers to methodically open and dump into the cup.

And I stirred and stirred and stirred ‘til the sugar finally dissolved and was left with a sweet, sticky, creamy, yet also a touch bitter, brew.

This kept me quiet for all of about ten minutes, giving everyone at the table a break from my constant, non-stop chatter. Now that I think about it, perhaps that was the hope and why she finally gave into my begging for a cup like all the grown ups…

Goodness. Now I’m feeling teary and all kinds of nostalgia, missing my mother, which wasn’t the intent of this post. Perhaps a thread to follow another time.

So back to the original intent of this post…

When I moved to Ohio to be with JB, I turned my world upside down. Mostly in good ways. And probably the most important thing I did was to dig in and “do my work”. By this, I mean dig in and not just work with a therapist or a coach, but stay dedicated to doing my self-development work. And one of the results of that was to turn something I did daily into a moment of mindfulness rather than something I did on auto-pilot.

Enter the coffee ritual. Rather than being in a rush, hastily pour a cup of coffee, and move into my day, I pause.

I still take my coffee with cream and sugar and that was the invitation to shift a mundane, ordinary moment into something special.

To practice what I preach: seeking moments of holiness in the everyday, mundane moments of your life.

I begin by choosing a cup I love: one that feels good in my hand and holds at least 15-ounces of coffee. It’s nice, too, if I can associate the cup with good memories, which is why these days I go cycle through a collection of Disney World cups.

Next, to reverently pour a freshly brewed cup of liquid gold, all the while it splashed from the pot into my cup. An opportunity to give thanks for all the hands that helped get the glorious, magical bean from the earth to my hands.

Imagine all the people who had a hand in that coffee: the farmer who planted it, then the hands that picked it, the ones who packed it to ship out, and then the person who received those raw, green coffee beans. Next, before it can get to me, it has to be roasted, packaged, and sent to a store where I can purchase it.

And it doesn’t end - or yet begin - there. After purchasing the coffee from a barista whose face and laughter I would know in a strange room, it then makes its way home. And before it makes it’s way into my cup in the early morning, the evening before the beans were lovingly and methodically measured into the grinder portion of our coffee pot.

Because not only am I preparing a cup of coffee for myself, I am making a loving gesture to JB by ensuring he has just the right start to his day.

A humble cup of coffee connects us to all of these people. And more.

The accompaniments to my brew have been cream and sugar in some form throughout every season of my life.

The sugar may have shifted - from white to the horrid Splenda stage and now to turbinado sugar. You know, the sugar in the raw with the big brown crystals that make a distinctive plunk, plunk, plunk as the grains hit the hot liquid.

And cream, which I am sure you have guessed has changed dramatically over the year. I was never into any kind of powdered creamer, but have used all things from skim to whole to plant based milks. These days, and for at least the last five years, I use whipping cream.

Yes, full-fat, organic whipping cream that comes from pastured cows. That is: cows who have been treating in a kind way with full access to grazing rather than living housed in small stalls and fed only grain.

But back to the ritual. After pouring the coffee in a beloved mug, I add a coffee-spoon of turbinado sugar, letting the grains plunk into the beverage with abandon with another moment of thanks for those who had a hand in this being, well, in my own hands.

Then the cream: that thick, beautiful cream.

Several years ago, I did an elimination diet and as I added potentially challenging foods back into my diet I learned that the source of dairy matters. Not just to my soul and a person who desires all creatures are treated with respect. But my own body can very unhappily reject cheap, non-organic dairy sources. But grass fed dairy is like a dream to my tummy.

(A subject for another day, because once again I could digress…)

And, like all rituals, sometimes we shift and tweak them so they best fit and serve us.

Earlier this year, my doctor suggested I begin supplementing my diet with collagen. Not only is it good for your skin and hair, but it’s good for your joints. One of the side effects of this aging thing is bits of achiness thanks to arthritis.

Now, my doctor is one who prefers diet changes first before prescriptions, so I took his suggestion to heart. And on my next visits to Whole Foods and Dorothy Lane Market, I got a sample size of every collagen available. And there was a lot. From collagen with electrolytes to flavored creamers to unflavored ones that could reportedly be put in any beverage, I tried them all.

But I refused to mess with that first cup of coffee.

Because, as I mentioned before, these days I only drink one cup. To mess with it felt like a sacrilege to this peace I’ve fought for in m daily life.

Then one morning, JB went into the office. Those days are far and few between, let me tell you. And rather than rush through my ritual before he is showered and heading out the door, I wait.

In addition to preparing a lunch for him, he gets both a cup and a thermos full of coffee already laced with half-and-half, no sugar for him. Yes, he drinks coffee all day… But the other result of that is that a full pot of coffee leaves a full thermos of coffee for me plus a mere 1/3 cup of coffee left.

So, that morning, I put my favorite of the collagen samples, an unflavored one, into my cup, added the beautiful black gold, a splash of cream, and just a sprinkling of sugar. I figured there would be no waste of a magical, ritually prepared cup on something that could ruin it.

Because trust me, a lot of those collagen packets were disgusting (I’m looking at you both vanilla creamer and tropical-blast with electrolytes.

And I was surprised. My already beloved cup had even more depth of flavor. I’d finally found a winner. And a way to enhance my beloved morning ritual.

Here’s how my morning ritual goes now, which was the intent of me sitting down here to begin with….

After first choosing a treasured mug, I dump in a scoop of Garden of Life Grass Fed Collagen Peptides Powder . To that, I prayerfully add just enough coffee to drench the collagen powder, then I stir. Next comes a scant single spoon of sugar, a splash of my revered cream, and finally a generous pour of coffee.

Then, the first blessed sip.

Something that I believed could not be changed once again has surprised me. An opportunity to tend my soul along with my body in a simple act.

To draw out the ritual, I sit without distraction to drink. Sometimes on the patio, sometimes in my recliner, and sometimes simply at the dining room table.

No phone, no book, not even my journal. Just me, my thoughts, and this humble moment of gratitude.

So, tell me: what’s in your cup? How do you find holiness in the ordinary moments?