Thank goodness for the sanity that books and tea provide.
Writing from: my study in Portland, Oregon. Listening to: Zen’s peaceful snoring.
I worked the late shift tonight, so I drove FunkyPlaid’s swank car to and fro, which cut my commute time by two-thirds plus I got to belt out ‘80s tunes. Not bad at all.
I’m savoring a bedtime cuppa while perusing a few different ebooks that I had requested that are all available at once. I downloaded but never got into Erin Morgenstern’s “The Night Circus” so I’ll switch to M.L. Stedman’s “The Light Between Oceans” for now. And then I wanted to re-read Octavia Butler’s “Kindred” and there’s the new essay collection by Mary Oliver, “Upstream” … ah, books.
Writing from: my study in Portland, Oregon. Listening to: “Mirror Lake” by Angus MacRae.
Look, I left the house today. I didn’t want to do it (not true) but I did it (true). It was looking like a whole three-day weekend spent hiding inside (except for nature) and despite expecting myself to do something social (like making at least two seconds of eye contact with another human being) I was enjoying days and days of writing and watching Netflix and cooking weird recipes and having unsatisfying conversations with the cat. I really was. Does that make me an introvert? I am finally at the age where I can say YES IT DOES proudly (sort of) and not worry about what anyone thinks of me (not true) and feel confident that my friends won’t wander off (definitely so very not true).
But I left the house today and it was really good. I recommend it. I especially recommend it if you, like me, have been on an introversion binge and yet miss seeing your friends in the Real Life and not just in the Instagram World because even if they are photogenic (disgustingly so) they are so much better in 3D. The LOLs are more realistic, too.
There is even tea in the Real Life. And random craft fairs and charcuterie and clothing stores that are surprisingly interesting for clothing stores. And friends.
Writing from: the safety of home. Listening to: “Living” by Sebastian Plano.
I smile, of course, And go on drinking tea. "Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall My buried life, and Paris in the Spring, I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world To be wonderful and youthful, after all."
– from T.S. Eliot’s “Portrait of a Lady”
I am fairly sure that Eliot did not have a virtual avatar sipping virtual tea in mind when he wrote those lines, but what better to offer as an apology for my own silence than words from one of the greatest poets who ever lived?
It has been an introspective couple of days.
Writing from: a vanilla-scented lounge (thanks, Ikea candle). Listening to: “Trans Fatty Acid” by Lamb.
I should stop not-bringing my camera to places; last night’s dinner, homemade by friends in Alameda, was so good that it should have been documented. I was too busy stuffing my face on duck confit.
Tea is steeping in a mug that was obviously handmade by a child somewhere along the timeline. I do not remember making this mug, but I remember someone telling me in my twenties that I had made this mug, and I believed it. For all I know, this could be a secret agent mug, lying in wait in my cupboard all these years, only to be activated when the proper mixture of tea, milk, and sugar is applied.
Good thing I can barely fumble my way through tea-making!
What would a secret agent mug do? Not “What Would Secret Agent Mug Do?” like on the colorful plastic bracelets, but what would its mission be?
Whatever plans it would thwart, it is allowing a particularly gentle sunset grace the Sunset right now, and so I allow it one more day as a mere mug.