I'm starting to rethink my morning routine. My grande coffee at Starbucks is enjoyable, to be sure, but there just might be some more useful alternatives out there.
Yesterday morning, as I sat in the terminal at LaGuardia awaiting my flight back home to Chicago, I watched an orthodox Jewish gentleman perform the ancient (and somewhat baffling) ritual of Tefillin. Right there in the gate area crowded with business travelers and regular folks returning from brief Independence Day holidays, a middle aged bearded man in a black suit rolled up his left sleeve, exposing a pale arm that I'm guessing rarely sees the light of day (and, most likely, has never lifted a dumbbell or a kettle bell). He lovingly removed two black boxes with straps attached to them from a zippered case, and wrapped one around his exposed arm, the other around his head.
I stared, thinking it odd that in this day and age, some guys take biblical commandments so literally. Somewhere in Deuteronomy, men are instructed to bind certain covenants as a "sign on your hand and let them serve as a frontlet between your eyes." (No, I didn't know that off the top of my head; Google is more than an investigative service for potential blind dates.) Anyway, someone back in the day had no concept of "figures of speech," and decided that the only way to keep something as a frontlet between one's eyes was to tie it up there in a big black box even if it makes you look like a space alien.
Well, nobody bothered the strange looking man in the prayer shawl, although I bet if he had been wearing a turban things might have been a bit different. He rocked back and forth and chanted his prayers, as unfazed by his audience as airport security was by him. All I know is whatever he did and said seemed to work. We boarded early and swiftly, the flight was smooth and uneventful, and we landed safely in Chicago forty minutes ahead of schedule. I doubt my cup of coffee was responsible for all that good fortune.
Later in the day, I ran into an old tennis buddy at the gym, a fellow almost-divorcee, who
reported happily that she had been dating Mr. Right for about three months. She feels absolutely certain her good fortune resulted from some prayer she began to recite every morning just before the man of her dreams literally fell into her lap. It's a prayer to all the superior beings out there -- why leave any stones unturned -- whether you believe in them or not. All I can tell you is she looks great, her happiness and her fulfillment seeping out of every pore. Okay, maybe it was sweat, but she sure was glowing, and, again, I'm willing to wager it wasn't just a morning cup of coffee.
Forget about other worldly, mystical powers; my daily dawn Starbucks doesn't even manage to keep me awake past ten o-clock in the morning. But that's beside the point. I need to learn to expand my horizons. My gender precludes me from reaping the benefits of the whole Tefillin thing, but there's nothing stopping me from reciting some prayer to various and sundry gods and goddesses and supreme beings -- especially if it's written in English.
I'm glistening just thinking about my new morning routine. And when Mr. Perfect falls from the sky, I'll be ready.
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