A Walker in the Suburbs

The old Russell Hobbs tea kettle gave up the ghost a few weeks ago. It seems like just the other day it was the new Russell Hobbs, so I was unprepared for the breakdown, at first thought I must have been turning it on the wrong way.

But oh no, it was truly broken, could no longer be babied along by turning it every so slightly to the right on its base, like cracking a safe. Now, the search for the new tea kettle will begin, but given the craziness of the season I could see it taking a while.

In the meantime, there is a stand-in I brought up from the basement and dusted off. It’s the trusty whistling tea kettle, decades old. It may be made of aluminum, it may be hastening our senility, but I love the jolly way it announces that the water is tea-worthy. Not with a click of a power switch but with a shrill whistle that brings me scurrying from the far corners of the house. It brooks no interruptions, knows its own mind. And the water it produces makes a fine cup of tea.

I’m not talking about the syrupy sweet iced tea found in southern climes, but about what I drink every morning, the piping hot brew of Barry’s Decaffeinated. Still, though it may not be quite as cloying as teeth-aching sweet tea, it is loaded with milk and sugar, especially sugar.

I’ve long since accepted my sweet tooth — would never try to drink my tea bitter and black. But what I would like to do is slowly reduce the amount of sugar I use. I’ve fantasized that I could figure out a way to do this crystal by crystal, a slow and steady de-sweetening that would lead me to healthier habits.

If not crystal by crystal, then maybe one-eighth (one-sixteenth?!) teaspoon by one-eighth teaspoon.

I may get stuck just one-eighth teaspoon into this scheme … but at least I would be trying.

Driving to the office this morning gave me the chance to lug in something I would not usually lug in — a thermos. And I’m now enjoying a cup of hot tea that could only have come from my own teapot at home.

It’s all courtesy of a thermos, this low-tech marvel, insulator extraordinaire. This one is large, built like a pitcher with a spout that makes it easy to pour from container to mug … which … I just did.

The steam is rising, the thermos is hissing. The page proofs on my desk can wait another few minutes. It’s tea time.

I gave up caffeine nine months ago, but when I don’t have time in the morning for a cup of my special decaffeinated blend, I am brain-fogged, blindfolded, cobwebbed in the head.

Can there be a tea addiction without caffeine? Could I have a taste addiction?

There is something about the warmth and the flavor and the sweetness on the tongue. Something bracing and forward-thinking about it. Something settling and stilling about it, too.

I check the hours of the cafe on campus. They open at 8. Yes! My blog post will be short; my tea break will be long. The answer to the questions above: yes and yes.

Midway through January and resolutions are falling away like petals off a full-blown rose. Stretching — I do that about half as much as I should. The perennial “don’t worry so much” — there’s a reason it’s a perennial.

But one resolution snuck up on me — giving up caffeine. I didn’t make it official on New Year’s Day because I didn’t think I could. Give up the cups of strong black tea that wake me every morning, the Diet Coke that revives me in the afternoon or the iced tea that refreshes at dinner? Water, sparkling water, juice — what are those? For me, for years, it’s been caffeinated beverages from morning till night.

But on January 2 I woke up with yet another headache. I perused the dietary chapters of Heal Your Headache, by Dr. David Buchholz, which I’d read in the fall but hadn’t the nerve to try. I saw the list of triggers, including some of my favorite foods — yogurt, nuts, chocolate, even sugar snap peas! But one culprit stood out above the rest. If you can banish anything, Buchholz wrote, make it caffeine.

And so I did. Quit cold turkey. Haven’t had a cup of “real tea” in more than two weeks. I limp by with two cups of de-caf black in the morning and a mug of herbal brew in the afternoon. In between I drink water — more than I used to.

And … so far so good. After four or five days of feeling jittery and headachey, a worse withdrawal than I’d expected, I emerged relatively headache-free. The verdict is still out, but I like the way I feel, which I can best describe as “clean.”

I sit now with my second cup of de-caf. It tastes far more like cardboard than I’d like it to, but that doesn’t bother me anymore. It’s what comes next that matters.

My morning ritual has changed through the years. I used to roll out of bed, pull on my running clothes and, in minutes, be chugging along outside, almost unaware of what hit me.

Now my days start in a less, a-hem, active way. I sit with this machine in my lap and wait for my first cup of tea. This is not a passive activity. First, I fill the electric kettle, then I wait for the familiar roaring crescendo that tells me the water is boiling.

What a sound that is! The sound of comfort and covers — the sound of anticipation.

Soon the tea will brew and I’ll be holding a warm mug of it in my hands. Soon my eyes will be fully open.

And speaking of tea, I’m writing this in real time.

The tea is ready. The day has begun.

Other blog post ideas were bobbing through my brain until a few seconds ago when they all flew away. Now all that remains is this, the first cup. Always the best.

For many it’s coffee; for me, it’s tea.

I’ve pondered this for years, why the first cup of the tea in the morning is the most delicious and soul-affirming. Because it has been more than 20 hours since the last? Because the tea is at its hottest when the pot is full?

Or is it something more universal, not just first cups of tea but first anythings? In this case, however, the novelty is long gone. Instead it is part anticipation, part vivid reminder. Here is what warm liquid feels like on the tongue, the throat. Here is what caffeine does to the waking brain. Here is morning again, much more tolerable.

Today I’m drinking tea from the largest mug I have. So the first cup lasts twice as long.