Makin' coffee

“I’m proud of our coffee maker,” I commented a few days ago to my husband.

He is accustomed by now to my anthropomorphic tendencies. Knowing as he does that I apologize to dishes I drop and thank the car when I pull into the garage at the end of a long drive, he wasn’t particularly surprised to hear that I was proud of the coffee maker. But, lacking my inclination to imbue household objects with souls, he also didn’t really care why I was feeling so warmly toward this particular appliance.

And in fact there was no particular reason. It was just that earlier that same morning, I’d been thinking about how I’ve had the same coffee maker for so long that I can’t even remember when or where I bought it, which is unusual for me. I tend to have a good memory for purchases, and the fact that I have no memory of the coffee maker’s genesis means we’ve probably had it for a decade or more. 

But it still functions beautifully, and the reason is that it’s such a simple machine. Compared to other coffee makers on the market, it’s absolutely bare bones. You put grounds in the filter and water in the canister; you press a button; coffee soon comes out. It’s remarkable, in the way that all electric appliances are remarkable to me – meaning that if stranded on a desert island with an entire General Electric factory at my disposal, I couldn’t make one myself – but it’s also unremarkable in that it lacks built-in grinders, timers, steamers, and the many other options with which fancier coffee makers come equipped.

I’d like to say I’m someone who always appreciates the simplest models, but that’s not true. I’m definitely attracted to gadgets. Normally I like new and fancy and multi-featured, especially when it comes to kitchen appliances or electronics. I’m not at all a noble adherent to the Shaker motto of “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.” I’m often guilty of consumerism, and find myself all too eager to move on from one big chunk of metal and plastic and batteries to another as soon as the newest model comes out.

But not with the coffee maker. It’s not that I’m indifferent on the topic. I’m fussy about coffee: I brew a pot or two every day and take great pains to make it just the way I like it. And I’ve had the opportunity to try out the more complicated kinds of coffee makers at other people’s houses. But I don’t need timers and frothers and steamers and programmed delays. (Confession: when my in-laws gave us that trendy brand of one-cup coffeemaker as a gift, we returned it, because the idea of pre-measured coffee grounds in little packets disturbed me too much – how could anyone else know the exact strength I liked my coffee, when I myself change the amount of grounds from day to day?)

I may wish I had simpler tastes when it comes to computers, phones, food processors and toasters, but coffee is perhaps the one thing in which I live up to the otherwise elusive ideal of believing simplest is best. Our coffee maker is old, but the only part on it required to function is the on/off switch, and that part still works. I’m proud of it, for having hung in there so effectively. And I’m somewhat proud of myself that there’s one line of gadgets in which I’m not seduced by ever-improving technology. I wish I were like that about more things. But at least there’s coffee, and my wonderful decade-old coffee maker.

Coffee, Buddhism, and the NFL

A few months ago, I interviewed a professional football player who wanted to talk not about his career in the NFL but about his Buddhist practices.

“I’m not a coffee drinker,” he told me. “But when I sit down with someone who is drinking coffee, you know what I love? I love when they haven’t even taken their first sip yet and the coffee is poured and they just breathe in that cloud of steam. I love the way they breathe so deeply, fill themselves up with that cloud of coffee steam, as if it’s a source of joy and fulfillment.

“If you asked them what the best thing about a cup of coffee was, they’d probably say drinking it,” he went on. “They’d say the flavor or the heat or the caffeine kick. But when I watch them, I can tell that the best part for them is actually the part they might not even notice: that cloud of steam they breathe in with so much pleasure.”

I wasn’t sure what coffee had to do with Buddhism, but he went on to clarify the connection. “I don’t even drink coffee, but this is kind of how I feel about life,” he said. “It’s handed to you, and you have to let that cloud of life-vapor, like coffee-vapor, hit you, and just breathe it in as deeply as you can and hold it in your lungs and let it become part of you, let it fill your body and your mind and your spirit. Let that hot blast of life fill you up and become who you are: lose yourself in the pleasure of breathing in that great big lungful of life.”

I love this image. I myself do like coffee, and just as he said, I never really think about or appreciate that cloud of steam. I like seeing a full hot mug of coffee in front of me because I’m thinking about drinking it, not inhaling it. But he’s right: the best part is breathing it in before I take the first sip.

You don’t know, when the hot coffee is in the mug in front of you, if it’s going to be the best cup or the worst cup of coffee you’ve ever had, but you can count on having the chance to savor that big hot steam cloud. And too with most days: you don’t know if you’re about to have the best or worst experience of your life, the best or worst game, the best or worst relationship, the best or worst day or year.

But the football player’s words made me think about how you can still breathe it in, just let life fill up your lungs and exalt in its ambience, in the way it fills you up with its potential every morning before you even take your first sip.

Coffee to go

Holly has recently begun packing her own school lunches, so last night I was in the kitchen keeping her company as she sliced cheese and bagged grapes. It felt downright abnormal to be in my own kitchen with nothing to do, so I measured out coffee into the filter and poured water into the chamber of the coffee maker for this morning.

And then this morning, just before I started making Tim’s breakfast at 6:45 a.m., I pushed the button and the coffee started brewing.

It was such a trivial act, and yet I felt like I’d given myself a little gift. Fresh coffee on its way without my having done anything to get it started – not having to rush around the kitchen multi-tasking the way I usually do in the morning, anyway – felt like a whole new way to start the morning. Usually I’m juggling so many things at once at that hour: slicing a bagel for Tim, packing up lunches, feeding the dog, unloading the dishwasher. And then along with juggling everything else, I try to put the beans in the grinder, the filter into the holder, the water into the pot.

Today it was ready at the push of a button, all because I’d taken three minutes last night to get it ready. I could have done that any night. And it’s not that I never thought about it; I just never bothered. My attitude was always that once the dinner dishes were washed, I was done in the kitchen for the night; doing morning tasks ahead of time never seemed like much of a bargain if it meant having more work to do at night.

Somehow it was different this time, though. Seeing Holly make her own lunch – an innovation in itself – made me feel like I was getting a break already, and making the coffee instead of standing there watching her was no trouble. But it was just such a revelation to me how pleased I was with myself. It was as if all those “Pamper yourself” approaches that go into the marketing of soaps, cosmetics, and spa treatments could have just been replaced by this one act: having coffee ready ahead of time.

I can try to keep this habit up, but I know the luster will wear off eventually, and making the coffee at night will seem like just another regular part of my routine. And then having it all set in the morning won’t seem so special anymore. But for the moment, it does. When you have the chance to do something nice for yourself, you might as well do it. Especially when it’s as easy as the push of a button.