Clare has left for her Big Adventure in the Northwest.
The zinnia had an incredibly long life — for a zinnia — so its demise doesn’t really bother me. Andrew’s permanent address continues to be the same as mine, and he can still legitimately call our house home. Clare, on the other hand, has moved out for good. She’ll probably continue to call Bethesda “home” for a while — I still sometimes say “I’m going home” when talking about visiting Elgin — but after a while this will be a place she once lived and where her mom and dad live.
I am truly grateful I had this summer with her (Andrew too, of course — but he’s not gone for good yet). I think we both were able to have some closure.
I am selfish. I have a hard time sharing things I like — dark chocolate, Jelly Bellies (TM), time with my kids, etc. I remember attending a Friday Mass when I worked at a Catholic school that talked about the benefits of sharing but I remained steadfastly selfish.
The other day I picked some lilacs from “our” bush (it was the neighbor’s lilac bush when we moved to Hoover Street but it has since migrated to our side of the property line) and noticed that we had more bunches of flowers than in years before. I wondered how to make them last so I could enjoy them for as long as possible. I love lilacs. I worried that people would come in the night and take away my fragrant blossoms.
This evening as I planted basil in a planter on my front porch two women walked by the lilac tree and stopped and smelled and exclaimed at the scent. I called my agreement to them.
One of the women said she grew up in the Alps and had lilacs in her garden. I told her to take some. She was reluctant, but did take some. Then I realized that sharing is better than not sharing — you get more out what you share. I think I understand that Mass now.
A few weeks ago I was the victim of a nasty stomach virus and for a couple of days afterward I had little appetite for anything except Gatorade. Slowly I got back to my regular diet, but one thing has changed — possibly for good. I started drinking tea in the morning instead of coffee. At first it was because my stomach could not tolerate it, but later I realized I don’t like the buzz I get from it anymore. And I don’t like the way it often makes my stomach hurt.
The other day Clare and I were in a tea shop and she said she thought she would stop drinking coffee in the morning. I thought that was a good idea and decided to join her. She also knew the quote at the end of this post by heart.
I still like coffee — the smell, the taste, the ritual; I also like tea — the smell, the taste, the extended ritual: boiling the water, warming the pot, measuring the tea, timing the brew, adding the [whole] milk before pouring the tea in the [China] cup. Where coffee gives me a jolt, tea teases me awake.
I don’t know how long this will last — but I plan on enjoying it while it does. And I’ve not given up coffee — I’ll still drink it occasionally — but not every morning. It is hard to get a good cup of tea at a restaurant — this morning I asked the waiter to boil the water in the microwave if necessary, but it had to be hot. She did it right — and my tea was delicious.
“There is a subtle charm in the taste of tea which makes it irresistible and capable of idealism… it has not the arrogance of wine, the self-consciousness of coffee, nor the simpering innocence of cocoa.”
Clutch Cargo Lips 