Chain of Habits

Ice, Please ~

It's the small, seemingly unimportant things we do every day that ground us, bring comfort, or a sense of security. Without them, the world ends in a fiery pit of disappointment, our future plans incinerated because we either forgot to fill up the car or we ran out of clean underwear. The suddenly catastrophic start of the day when you realize there is no caffeine in the house or you forgot to set the alarm. 

Might as well go back to bed. 

But, that's not usually an option if you've used up all your get-out-of-jail-free cards because commitments have monopolized the 6,000 calendars you've installed on your phone. 

Still, not finding your car key can get the day off on the wrong foot. Especially when that socked foot steps into a puddle on the bathroom floor because you forgot to take the towels out of the dryer. When a link is broken in the chain of daily habits, why does it inadvertently end up around your ankles, causing you to spend the rest of the day tripping into the next, Gosh, dang it! moment? And by you, I mean me. I'm not a morning person. If things start going south, it becomes a necessity to pull out the umbrella and let the dominos fall where they may. It's on baby, welcome to World War III.

Or not.

That's the thing about expecting ice in your drink. You don't always get it the way you want it. I learned that the hard way. 

Growing up in Florida, I always put ice in my drinks. We used to buy the cheap flavored sodas from Publix or Winn-Dixie and drink them like water. Well, drink them instead of water. If you grew up drinking lukewarm water out of the hose or from those fountains spewing liquid metal (not really, but c'mon! it was like licking the head of a hammer), you wouldn't be a fan of water either unless it came in little blocks you could crush with your teeth.

So, imagine my surprise when we moved to the Netherlands and discovered that they don't put ice in their drinks. Talk about a culture shock. It was a big deal to an eleven-year-old who had celebrated the day we got a refrigerator that came with an ice maker! Hours after landing in Schipol, dad took mom and me out for dinner in Tilburg. Starched white tablecloths, linen napkins, bud vases with a single red flower, and votives everywhere. They had all that fancy stuff...and no ice? The impeccably dressed waiter handed me a leather-bound book, I mean menu, and I slowly flipped through it. 

When I got to the last page, I closed it and let it thump on the table, nearly sideswiping one of the many strategically placed boobytraps. Fortunately, the massive menu landed without causing stains to the white linen tablecloth or catching fire. Unfortunately, I was certain I had forgotten how to read. My dad asked if I saw anything that looked good. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he waited for an answer. I opened the menu again. Yup. Still couldn't read. My dad released a soft chuckle before he said, "You realize the menu is in dutch..."

I could have sworn I heard thunder as the first domino fell. My problems were suddenly a lot bigger than no ice in my drink. 

My world went from living in Florida to comparing everything to Florida. The Netherlands was flat like Florida, but the cold winds that blew in from the Nord Zee were definitely NOT like Florida. My body ached for the sun, and to my horror, I was transforming into one of the blue people from the north! A kid with a year-round tan is not used to seeing their veins. But, my parents wanted me to dive right into the cultural waters with them, and I didn't know how to swim in dutch.

It wasn't too long until the dominoes were up to my chin, but I eventually learned how to stack them into neat little rows so my world could make sense again. I started small, ordering appelsap (dutch for apple juice) and Filet Mignon, and, in an ode to home, doused my steak in ketchup. It's the little things that comfort us. Or, in this case, the big pile of red goo on my fancy steak.

My chain of habits would be different, but I learned to live without ice in my drink.