A ritual life

Life is full of rituals. Mine is, anyway. Mostly little things that link together to get me through the day. I get up at the same time every morning, I run the same route, eat the same breakfast, make the same lunch, leave at the same time, every day. I get where I need to be, on time, and my mind is free for more important tasks than remembering to put on pants.

Some rituals are less utilitarian and more enjoyable. Every afternoon, weekday or weekend, I drink yerba mate. Fill the kettle with cold water and put it on the stove to boil. Pour the remainder of the previous day's water out of my black pump and stand it in the sink. Dump the previous day's leaves in the compost pail under the sink, and give the guampa a rinse. As a bachelor, I kept my supply of dried leaves in a rusty old coffee can I had hauled around college dorms, apartments, mountain tops, construction sites, and tree planting camps. As a married man, I keep it in a stainless container next to the brown sugar on the counter. Pull that out, fill the horn about 2/3s, shake it on its side, pack the leaves so they taper from the lip to the base, and insert the bombilla. Stand it up, fill with cold water, and let it stand until the hot water is ready. When the kettle makes its first peep, turn the element off and let the residual heat in the coil finish the job. Take the kettle off before the whistling gets shrill, and pour it into the waiting carafe. Ideally, I can take the water and the guampa and sit down at the kitchen table to finish what I didn't read of the paper in the morning. The first shot is just the cold water that isn't absorbed into the leaves in the horn. By the second "real" pour, it is up to full heat. Fill, drink, fill, drink, until eventually the leaves are leveled out and their frothy green goodness is drained. Put it to the side, and look forward to tomorrow afternoon to do it all again. If Rosie's Mama is home, the ritual takes longer, because she likes to be included, but can't handle it at full heat.

There is joy in these little rituals. Some people fear boredom from eating the same thing every day. To me, it is comfort. Every day, I know that I have enough food in my lunch. I know because it was enough yesterday, and the days before that. There are enough variables in a given day to create stress. Why add to that by not being sure you have enough food? Or the microwave might break. Or you have to leave the office for most of the day. My lunch does not need a fridge or a microwave, and can mostly be eaten while driving. Cheap too. My sandwiches, fruit and yogurt cost less than a wilted salad or lukewarm piece of pizza from the "convenience" store next door, and I don't have to question the provenance of fruit.