The mistake wouldn’t have happened, except I was in a hurry to attend my granddaughter’s volleyball game. The realization of my error hit me about five minutes into my drive as I blissfully reached my hand out to the right; purely out of habit. To my minor distress, my hand encountered dead air where my stainless tumbler should have been. I was running too late to turn around to retrieve my tumbler. I broke the news to myself that I’d have to carry on without my tumbler, not just during the drive, but I’d also be tumblerless throughout the game. The whole game.
I am embarrassed to admit that my first reaction was somewhere on a sliding scale of panic; not a full-blown panic attack, but an “oh shit” mixture of dread and irritation with myself. How could I have left the house without my special cup (more precisely known as a stainless steel tumbler)? It was so unlike me. I never drive anywhere without my tumbler. For that matter, I won’t work outside in the yard without my tumbler. And I don’t work inside without my tumbler, either. Forgive the TMI, but I don’t even take a bath without my trusty tumbler nearby on the kiddie chair beside the tub for easy access. Seriously, taking a hot bath makes me so thirsty! My phone is there, too, of course, because I’m probably even more addicted to my phone than my tumbler, but it’s a close tie. When it’s time for bed, my nightstand holds my tumbler of fizzy water, and my cell phone. I cannot fall asleep without them within arm’s reach.
Other than that, I’m extremely well-adjusted.
The tumbler’s contents varies. Usually it’s a flavored sparkling water (I’m not a fan of flat water), or iced tea, or Diet Pepsi (hold the lectures, please). For special occasions, my tumbler has been known to contain a lite margarita beverage. And by special occasions I mean when it’s hotter than 100 degrees after 7 p.m. and I’m outside watering terminally ill plants that were slain by another blasted Redding summer, or if my car is on its second week of being in the shop, which means I’m still borrowing my sister’s car. Oh, and another special occasion for a lite margarita beverage in my tumbler is when I feel like it.
Do I have a problem if I feel as though I’m getting away with something by sipping innocently from an NSPR tumbler outside as I water plants and wave to passing neighbors, if the thought crosses my mind that I’ll bet they think it’s water?
Another question for another day.
As you can see in the photo, this tumbler has suffered some wear and tear. No wonder. We’ve been together for remodeling and projects and late-night writing (like now). I don’t quite remember when I first acquired my tumbler, but I do recall that it was a premium gift for being a valued North State Public Radio supporter. There is some shame involved with disclosing this fact, because a person with more integrity would have contributed the donation and declined the offer of the premium gift.
“Oh no! I simply cannot accept that premium gift, an item purchased with precious NSPR funds! Please! Keep the tumbler so NSPR can have yet more money to continue its fine programming!”
But no. I did not say that, because I’m shallow and greedy. I really wanted that tumbler, just as decades ago I accepted a premium of a KCHO apron that advertised that awesome cooking show although the show’s name escapes me. (One of you will know it.)
The tumbler arrived in the mail, and although I cannot pinpoint its exact age, I know that I’ve had it several years. I’m not certain, but I think it came with a straw. I have a variety of straws that I use with my tumbler. Straws, in my opinion, add a certain air of class to the whole liquid-swilling operation. Takes it up a notch, if you will.
My tumbler’s white paint is chipped. Also, the tumbler is dented in a few places from where it’s slipped out of my hand and hit asphalt, usually during transportation in or out of the car as I juggle my purse, keys, and any other stuff I’m taking away — like Amazon returns – or bringing home — like Facebook Marketplace bargains. I have this competitive internal pack-mule mentality, almost as a point of pride. I don’t believe in making multiple trips, unless it’s absolutely necessary. However, no matter how many trips I do make, my tumbler is as much a priority for me as my purse and cell phone. That’s my holy traveling trinity: NSPR tumbler, purse and cell phone. If you see me out in the world without those three, then dial 911, because I’ve been kidnapped.
Anyway, back to Thursday, when I accidentally left my tumbler at home. As drove, I visualized exactly where I’d left it; forlornly standing on the kitchen counter, loaded with ice and my current favorite Safeway Soleil blood orange sparkling water. The very image conjured up a sudden sensation of profound thirst, like crawling-through-a-desert thirst. It was like Pavlov’s tumbler; the mere thought of it made me thirsty.
Considering my profound attachment to my tumbler, I may as well have an I.V. hooked up from my tumbler to my mouth. It’s my beverage binky. That’s how much a part of me it’s become.
I haven’t always been like this. When exactly did this happen? I’m not sure, but I know I’m not alone, because nearly everywhere I go I see people – mainly women – carting around their insulated travel mugs and plastic bottles, some of which are massive. When did we become so addicted to a steady stream of constant hydration that we cannot imagine leaving home without our beverage containers?
Case in point, I once hosted a fancy brunch that featured a well-stocked coffee bar that ended up barely touched because guests arrived with travel mugs of their own coffee. What the what?
Me? I’d like to think I’m socially evolved enough to know that my tumbler isn’t welcome everywhere. For example, I know it would be inappropriate to bring it to medical appointments, or the grocery store. But it doesn’t mean I’m not jonesing for my tumbler the entire time we’re apart. Yes, I confess to a sensation of some superiority when I see women in waiting rooms who lug along with them 2-liter drink containers. Honestly, people, where’s your self-control?
God, how jealous I am of them!
Oh goodness, you know I hate to do this, but I apologize for this interruption. First, thank you to those who support A News Cafe. Second, to those who read A News Cafe but still have not been moved to help support this site, maybe today is our lucky day. If so, you can contribute any amount that suits you and your budget. Thank you!
Question for you world-travelers: Are these mobile beverage containers strictly an American thing, or is this happening worldwide? Either way, Americans’ current obsession with having constant beverage access is baffling. When I think back, I believe it’s a relatively new thing that extends to somewhere within the past decade, maybe two. Serious question: What came first, vehicle cup holders, or people drinking beverages in the car?
When I was a young mom hauling kids in my mini van, I didn’t bring beverages in the car, unless it was a rare treat of a McDonald’s drive-through for a Happy Meal. Did 1992 mini vans have cup holders? I don’t remember. Usually, the only person in the car with a beverage was the baby, who perhaps had a sippy cup or baby bottle of water. I don’t recall nagging my kids to drink water, as I do now with my grandchildren. Drink, drink, drink! I figured they’d ask for water if they were thirsty, or they’d get it themselves when they were older and able to help themselves, just as I’d done as a child.
Which reminds me, forgive me for pulling the reminiscent Boomer card, but as a kid in Redding, I don’t remember drinking much water, except after playing outside for hours in Redding’s sweltering heat, and even then, it was a matter of drinking from the garden hose, or grabbing a glass from the cupboard, filling it with tap water, and chugging the whole thing. Ice wasn’t involved. Metal ice trays were in the freezer, reserved to trick us into pretending powdery Tang tasted like real orange juice.
I swear, as kids we only drank water in the summer. Come summertime, my three sisters and I walked from our home on Chestnut Street in Redding, across the Market Street Bridge, across Lake Redding Park to our destination: The Plunge (now The Aquatic Center). We were equipped with bath towels, the price of admission (a quarter?) and that was that. No sunscreen. No water. The only water was provided by public drinking fountains. The same was true at elementary schools, where students and staff alike drank from long porcelain interior and exterior troughs that featured stainless water spigots.
All in all, I’m pleased to say that I survived my granddaughter’s volleyball game without my tumbler. Yes, there were snacks and drinks for sale, but the thought of Diet Pepsi in a can — no straw, no container, no ice — just seemed rather gauche. I guess I wasn’t that thirsty after all.
Even so, when I arrived home, there was my NSPR tumbler, right where I’d left it. I marveled that the tumbler’s ice was still intact. See? That’s what I’m talking about! That is one fine, quality tumbler! That’s why I love it so!
Just thinking about it makes me so thirsty. Pardon me while I take a sip. With a straw. It’s water. Really.
