I'm throwing a big party--y'know, hauling out the good silverware, gourmet catering, flowers, balloons, a chocolate fountain, and a dance floor. Okay, maybe not really, but it was good while it lasted! ;-) In any event, I do have cause for celebration, and it's seemingly disproportional to the actual event. Here goes: I finished a jar of face cream. Big whoop, right?

Well, actually, yes.

Let me illustrate to you the bigness of the deal by showing you a stark contrast. My grandfather, Zaida, has, for the last endless number of years, called his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren every single week to wish each of them a Good Shabbos and give them the traditional bracha (blessing). Every single week. For many, many years. Without fail. That is what you call peresistence. That is what you call consistency. That is what you call stick-to-itness.

Back to Riva. None of the words I just used above are to be found in my personal dictionary. Consistency? Persistence? Stick-to-itness? Just about the only thing I do on a constant basis is eat and breathe, and even then I'll still try to be creative. In fact, it might be safe to say that the only thing I'm consistent about is being inconsistent. Whew, that's a lot.

Enter face cream. Now, I am not really into beauty regimens--bronzer's about the only thing I ever use in my make-up bag, but I guess those glitzy You Can Be Beautiful Too ads that the cosmetics industry invests billions in really did claim another victim because one auspicious day I took the plunge and bought...a little jar of face cream. Oh, the lofty promises of this magical little jar. It will prevent wrinkles, give me younger skin, tons of vitamins, protect me from free radicals, nourish me with antioxidants, and everything else short of making coffee and styling my wig.

Of course, I laughed at myself. This cream was destined to go the way of all other creams before it. It would be used once, twice, and then....y'know, I'm tired; it's cold out; it never works anyway; ooops, forgot about it; I read that these things clog your pores....The inconsistent reader may find herself identifying with this little episode.

But something strange happened. I began to use the face cream at night. One night. Two nights. Three nights. Dare I say "four"? And slowly but surely, insidiously, it became a sort of...well, routine. If I could figure out how to adjust the fontsize on this blog I would write that "r" word really, really tiny becuase it is just terrifying for people like myself. Routine is for people like my Zaida. People with discipline and fortitude. Not for creative, flighty, all-over-the-place types like me, right?

Wrong. Because today I hold an empty jar and a full feeling of accomplishment. I, too, can be consistent. It starts with a jar of face cream. It carries over to other, less banal endeavors. And that, my friends, is cause for celebration.