I am blessed to be friends with a neat woman named Alma. I don’t see her often but appreciate any time I have to be with her. Alma is always armed with a huge hug, kind words and a greeting that warms you like a Snuggie.
With her shoes on, Alma tops out at about five feet. Her tiny frame is all heart and spirit. At 86 years old, she still cooks, shops, drives, quilts, volunteers and cares for herself independently. During my last encounter with Alma I asked her to share her secret to longevity. “You know Alma. What gets you out of bed in the morning?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s easy,” she responded in a flash. I waited eagerly for her words, expecting nuggets of deep wisdom and inspiration.
“Coffee,” she stated emphatically. “Coffee is what gets me up every morning.”
This might be my favorite no-nonsense response of all time.
I thought a lot about Alma during the last six weeks for one simple reason. I gave up coffee for Lent.
My kids suggested this awful idea a year ago, when the last Lenten season was over. I nearly choked on a perfect cup of mocha when they said it.
“No way. I would never do that!” But as soon as the words left my mouth I knew it was destined to be my next Lenten sacrifice. Darn kids.
You’re probably drinking a cup of coffee right now, so take a sip and enjoy while I describe my coffee fast. The novelty of the sacrifice helped me survive the first few days of nagging headaches. Then I discovered home-brewed Chai tea – a bit too sweet and utterly void of coffee’s richness, but it provided some comfort for a few weeks.
About half-way through Lent I marched bravely into Starbucks one morning to stare temptation in the face. The smell alone made my legs wobble. I felt like Ferdinand, the bull who prefers to sit under a tree and smell flowers rather than fight like a respectable bull.
I wanted to sit in Starbucks and spend the day smelling the fresh ground coffee, but I feared the baristas’ stares might break my resolve. So I dashed out the door with a green tea latte – a terrible concoction that tastes like warm, seaweed flavored milk with too much sugar -- and cursed the wasted $5.
As my fast progressed, I not only missed the taste of coffee, but the routine of having it every morning. I missed the pleasure of sharing it with my husband and girlfriends. I missed the way it can substitute for sleep on occasions when this delicious commodity is in short supply.
And I really missed the heavenly combination of strong coffee, rich cream, and anything home-baked with butter and sugar.
I’m not exactly suspicious of people who don’t like coffee, not yet anyway, but I do have to fight the urge to feel sorry for them. What’s not to like? Coffee is the perfect vice – a no calorie, energy-boosting, entirely legal, socially acceptable drug that comes readily available in a cup and is endorsed by happy, healthy, long-living grandmas.
My fast proved I can live without coffee, but I’d really rather not. Forty days was enough for me. I’m not about to ignore Alma’s simple secret to longevity again anytime soon.
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