It’s been a long time since I’ve felt safe.
Months, maybe years.
Certain days hit a little harder, somehow always unexpectedly. Like today, which should have been Margaret’s 24th birthday.
Emblem of Our House (Blog)
Emblem of Our House (Podcast)
I find little moments to find some peace, like getting a comfort food if I’m feeling anxious, or taking a long shower. It took me some years to understand that long showers had a psychological impact; the suggestion of warmth, a hug.
Tea is another stand-in, an internal hug, if you will. I’d drink chamomile or peppermint, a physical representation of self-soothing.
It’s been awhile since I’ve had tea on a regular basis. It tastes different now, after my switch to coffee in 2008. The change happened at my first marketing internship, a paid position at a home health agency. I’d been hired right before everyone in the department was either fired or quit, and because the new full-timers were learning their jobs, nobody had anything for me to do. I’d get up from my desk tucked away in a corner, grab some mediocre free office coffee, go back to my desk and try not to fall asleep. I didn’t even know who I was reporting to.
After that, when I joined the staff of a clinic in 2009, we’d make Dunkin’ Donut runs, and I learned that I liked cream in my hot coffee, but iced coffee definitely needed sugar. It was the only way I could take breaks at the office without getting in trouble. The manager and her best friend on staff there were smokers and could spend awhile outside with their built-in excuse. I didn’t like being around the smoke and I wasn’t going to try a cigarette again after a disastrous experience when I was 15. So coffee could be my vice, I decided, and with the stress of that position, it quickly overpowered the nostalgia of tea.
There were also few tea shops around. The coolest one, a tea-only local place in northern California, ended up going out of business. Turns out, a lot of folks need coffee, a legal addictive substance, but a desire to have tea just doesn’t drive the industry in the same way.
And local shops were on the rise. When I lived in Durango, their local coffee places outnumbered Starbucks by fifteen to one, and few made tea a highlight on the menu.
In New Jersey, there were three local coffee shops in one small downtown. Medford Lakes had one local place on one side of town, with another straight across town, and a Starbucks with a terrible parking lot in the middle.
I’d explore, trying out different places. I rarely made it a morning routine. It was a fun mid-afternoon trip, a way to find a fresh location and do some work.
Coffee became not only a way to self-soothe, but connect with other people. I’d use the shops to interview for jobs and meet folks in my networking groups. Once, while I was a nanny in 2011, I took the baby with me to a Durango Joe’s, and two older women started asking me questions about her, assuming she was mine. It seemed much less awkward to play along than try to explain, and personally entertaining, until I couldn’t keep my lies straight and I decided it was time to go and I hoped they wouldn’t call the police.
Years later, I keep telling myself I’m not really a coffee drinker. I’m not addicted, anyway. I don’t get a headache if I don’t have it. I like the weight of it in a to-go cup, I like the familiarity of it. But I don’t need to make it at home, I decide, because I just don’t drink it that often.
With the uncertainty of the past few months, coffee has become more regular for me, especially it’s hot enough outside that a grande ice coffee with cream and sugar is just a little over $3, which seems so cheap compared to the $6-$7 of specialty coffees. And I’m bad at making it at home.
Then I’m reminded that practice is important, even when it comes to something that seems like it should be simple, like coffee, so I buy a $20 Bodum French Press. I’m going to try. I’ll figure it out. I worked at Starbucks for a minute, so I know there’s types of water and precise amounts of time to allow it to seep, and different ways to try milks and creams and sugars and honey. Some people add in butter.
But not today. Today, I’ll grab a coffee from the place down the street, and think about the time that Margaret and I went out for her birthday to a hibachi place near my mom’s house, and the waiter didn’t card her at 20 years old, but she froze under the pressure and just ordered a Bud Light.
Emblem of Our House Update
It’s Margaret’s birthday today. I’m taking things easy. I thought about getting a tattoo because there’s a flash sale at my favorite studio, but it would be a little too much at the moment. Maybe every other Friday the 13th that falls on her birthday, I’ll get a tattoo instead, just let the ink just slowly take over my body and I’ll never forget, not even for a moment. (Actually, I originally wrote this at 2 pm, and as of 6:45 pm, I got the tattoo.) You can listen to the previous episodes of the podcast here. After that, I have two episodes to edit, and I’ll lay it to rest, at least in its current format. The trauma has crept up. It’s a shame, because it’s my favorite thing I’ve ever done, but if anyone has to compromise their mental, physical or any sort of health for the project, it’s best to take a moment and step away. I don’t know what’s next, but I’ll be ready when it’s time.
Kitchen Update
From Target: Pizza Tray ($5), Why Not? Mug ($3), Silverware (2 of each, $1 each), Bodum ($19.95)
From Goodwill: Four Glasses ($3), Black Mug ($1.50), Bowl ($1), Four Small Black Plates ($2) (Not Pictured)
From Trader Joe’s: This plant I’m determined to keep alive that needs to be repotted (5.99)
