Plotjuggling

Tea: Vanilla Lapsang

Music: Switchfoot, "Gone"

Time: Night.

I go through periods, periodically, where I find myself immersed in more than one book at once.

Come tomorrow, I may be up to three. By the end of the week, it could be four.

The other day, I misplaced my copy of Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. (It went missing at a critical time in the plot, too. Frustrating.) So I picked up John Knowles' A Separate Peace, which two of the kids have already read and which I started a few weeks back but had let lapse.

Finished Knowles. Still no sign of Pratchett/Gaiman. So I started in on Christopher Moore's A Dirty Job (yep, one of the Barnes and Noble Christmas books). It's utterly engrossing (see also hilarious, touching, menacing and brilliantly written) -- so, of course, once Moore had his latest hook in me, Good Omens turned up.

At about the same time, I found another mislaid book: Darryl Tippens' Pilgrim Heart: The Way of Jesus in Everyday Life, which was loaned to me by a friend. I need to read and return it. So it could wind up going on tomorrow's church trip with me.

I also want to return to a long-distance shared reading of Diane Ackerman's A Natural History of the Senses, which likely will resume on New Year's Day. There will be, of course, some rereading required to catch up.

I tell people "Words are my life." This verges on the ridiculous ... but it's a pretty good sort of ridiculous.

Wherever two or more are gathered ...

Tea: Jasmine Vanilla

Music: U2, "Gloria"

Time: Night

I went to bar church tonight. No, really. Sometimes, on Sunday evenings, I go to church in a bar.

A couple of my friends from my regular church also went, after more than a month of my urging them to come and check out the proceedings. So, of course, there was hardly anyone else there tonight.

It was the three of us, the pastor and his wife and their two children, and the song leader. So while the meeting went on as scheduled, the format changed. We retired into the side room to talk.

One of the church's main emphases is on social justice -- including doing what it can to raise awareness about human trafficking (which goes on, sad to say, even here in the heartland). On other fronts, there are monthly collection drives (food last month, coats this month, food again in January). There is a plan to launch a ministry where the church will partner with a laundromat to do laundry for homeless people -- and no one will have to convert to leave with clean clothes.

There are those within the faith who would label all this vaguely leftist. With all due respect, they're wrong. We're not just encouraged to take care of the hungry, the cold, the imprisoned and the stranded -- we're commanded to do it as though we were taking care of Christ Himself. While "The Lord helps those who help themselves" has taken on the weight of scripture, it's not.

(In this respect, many of other faiths, or no faith at all, act more Christian -- in the best, "love thy neighbor" sense of the word -- than we who would claim the name.)

So what are we to do?

Nothing more than all we can, really. None of us can end poverty, or trafficking, or any other human ill on our own.

But if we really want to be God's hands on Earth, then which use do you think he'd prefer: patting ourselves on the back for being among the Elect, or reaching out to do whatever good is given to us to accomplish, whenever we can?

Same Store, Different Tastes.

Tea: Matcha.

Music: Sweet, "Ballroom Blitz"

Time: Night.

Family outing to Barnes and Noble today, to spend the Christmas gift cards.

I wound up with Christopher Moore's "A Dirty Job" (Yes, I've turned into a Moore junkie.) and C.S. Lewis' "Till We Have Faces." (I still have more card to redeem. They weren't that expensive.

The 17-year-old got three classics, and won't let me tell you what they are.

("There's this thing called privacy," she called over her shoulder as she headed to bed.)

The 16-year-old picked up "The Spiritual Brain: A Neuroscientist's Case for the Existence of the Soul," by Mario Beauregard and Denyse O'Leary.

The 14-year-old got music. (And no, I didn't browbeat her to get words. The card was hers, to do with as she pleased.)

It's more than interesting, seeing them develop their own tastes as they grow. There are influences, of course -- from teachers, from peers, from travel companions and (occasionally) from their parents. But none of them is a carbon copy of anyone -- and that's a good thing.

From Grumbles to Gratitudes

Tea: Mandarin Orange with Honey

Music: Radim Zenkl, "Last Supper"

Time: Night.

I really hadn't intended to take this much time off for the holidays. But ... I'm back, even if not entirely coherent.

I suppose I can blame part of it on the Christmas whirl, another part on the bug I picked up a few days ago (which waited until last night to slam me and kept me in bed for most of today) and a third on the caffeine withdrawal headache that is only now going away.

But as someone wiser than I once said, the times when one feels sorry for oneself are the times to remember (and be grateful for) the good things.

So, I'm grateful tonight for the gift of the tea, which took away my headache; for a bed in which to sleep while I shook off the bug and for the message of peace that still manages to make itself heard if one can just turn down the carols and commercials for a bit.

Fourth out of three: Food, which I've had in abundance this holiday season and which a good deal of the world has to go without on a regular basis. A few rounds on Free Rice won't make all the hunger go away, but it's a step I can take right now while I'm thinking about it.

Not to nudge, but so can you ...

The Gift of Letting It Go

Tea: White Garden Aria

Music: The Pretenders, "2000 Miles"

Time: Night.

I ran into a former pastor at my church today, while we were both out getting some late-hour (not quite last-minute) Christmas errands done.

His departure was not a shining moment in the history of the church. There were factions and accusations, resigned memberships and broken friendships.

It was a sad thing to see. He's a decent, caring, intelligent man.

We talked for a few minutes, then I got called to another register to make my purchase while he continued checking out.

His wife came to the front of the store, and they left together. I remembered her as a smiling, gentle woman. Now, she looked angry, pinched, drawn-in. She looked at me, and I smiled -- and then realized that she was (or so it seemed) looking through me.

They left, a study in emotional contrasts. He had let go of whatever angers and pains (many of the latter unjustly afflicted) he might have taken from the split. She had not.

It makes me wonder what grievances I still hold that I would be better served to fling away. I have recently yanked out a deep-rooted anger -- and while the site where it grew is still healing, I know I am better (and can be better still) for it.

There are other grudges, small and not so, which remain to be uprooted. Seems as good a time as any to do it. Healing is a fine Christmas present to the self -- and to the ones we care about.

And the Caffeinated Ripples Spread ...

Tea: Pu Erh Poe with Mango and honey

Music: Robert Fripp, "Silent Night"

Time: Almost midnight.

Strange day today, hot drinkwise.

My youngest shares my -- let's say "fondness" -- for caffeine. Today, on Free Coffee Monday at Morning Glory Espresso, she went for decaf.

(A friend says it doesn't matter, that this particular daughter is self-caffeinating. She could be right.)

Then, tonight, my son -- ordinarily a fan of neither tea nor coffee -- decided he'd have first some chai, then the second steeping of my flavored Pu Erh Poe.

And he liked both.

I already have one child hoarding a stash while raiding mine. Soon, it seems, I could have another.

Oh, well. I can still take both of them at Scrabble. Maybe we'll start playing for bags of tea.

Solstice

Tea: Orange Chocolate

Music: Unto Ashes, "Winter Born"

Time: Night.

On the longest night of the year, I offer one short wish: for light and warmth, in all good forms.

And if you have extra of either to give, by all means share it. It doesn't have to be financial, or even tangible. A warm word can go a long way in a cold world.

Let the lengthening of the days begin.

Jump, George, Jump!

Tea: Oolong No. 18

Music: UK, "Time to Kill"

Time: Night.

Call me a Grinch. Call me a Scrooge. (Both pre-enlightenment, that is.)

But I've had it up to here (indicates heart, three sizes too small) with heartwarming holiday specials.

I need something that doesn't involve someone learning (to the appropriate swelling music) that the True Meaning of Christmas is (a) Family; (b) Giving; (c) True Love (either with someone you've just met or someone you've known for years but never thought of that way.)

Not that family, giving or true love are bad things. They're just not the true meaning of Christmas, in my book. That's a longer, preachier post than I've time for here, though.

Ah, well. It appears I'm not to be spared. I'm being called to the living room, where "White Christmas" awaits.

Maybe this will be the year it doesn't snow, and the Big Christmas Show falls through, and ... yeah, right.

I'm telling you, the day after Christmas I'm popping "Night of the Living Dead" into the DVD player and it's not coming out for at least twenty hours straight.

Better yet, "Mad Monster Party." It was made by the Rankin/Bass same people who made all those Rudolph specials (which at least have some redeemingly creepy parts).

Couldn't go wrong with Godzilla, either. Atomic breath vaporizing entire army divisions?

Now that's heart(and everything else)warming ...

Two Painting as One

Tea: Christmas

Music: Queen, "You're My Best Friend"

Time: Night.

Short Third Friday tonight. None of the galleries in Columbus Park were open.

However, Eljay's Coffeehouse in the River Market had some works I've seen before and always enjoy seeing again. They're by Chuck Hoffman and Peg Carlson-Hoffman, who are collectively Doghaus Arts.

I do mean "collectively." They paint together -- on shared canvases. One might think that would be a dicey undertaking, given the inherent individualism of the creative processes.

But they make it work, in large part because each respects the other's vision and neither holds a power advantage during the painting process. There's a larger lesson in that -- and they teach it in Belfast, where they use artistic collaboration to help bridge the Catholic-Protestant divide.

That's art for more than art's sake, I'd say.

The Polenta Bridge

Tea: Mandarin Green

Music: Potato Moon, "Let's Ride"

Time: Almost midnight.

Mrs. Steep and I went to a Christmas party tonight, despite all the predictions of ice and freezing rain and whatever else the ratings-hungry weather-blatherers were yammering on about before we changed the channel.

Late in the evening, when most of those remaining had repaired to the living room to sing Christmas songs (a familiar moment in heartwarming holiday specials on the Hallmark Channel, but a new -- and enjoyable -- one for me), I wandered back into the kitchen to refill my cup of hot cider.

The woman who prepared the main dishes for the party (coq au vin, butternut squash polenta and Caesar salad) was there, putting away the last of her serving dishes.

We had never gotten on all that well in the past. Nothing hostile, mind you, but little that could even be called cordial. But I had enjoyed the dinner -- especially the polenta, which was lighter than any I'd ever had before -- and I told her so. No sense in withholding a compliment where one was due, after all.

She lit up, and talked animatedly of her search for a fluffy polenta recipe (which, when she found it, was simple: four cups water, one cup cornmeal and one 12-ounce package of cream cheese). I later learned that she had been a professional caterer but had to give it up. She seemed a bit sad about that.

The exchange wasn't a huggy holiday special moment, but it was a good one -- and it reinforces my belief that sharing food (both physically and verbally) can be a way for people to get to know each other better, to build bridges rather than walls.

Someday, I'll try the recipe. And it will be a reminder that whatever our relations with others, sometimes it doesn't take a grand gesture to make them better.

Real Men Read.

Tea: White Song Yang

Music: Bozzio Levin Stevens, "Black Light Syndrome"

Time: Night.

It's cold and snowy outside. I have the makings of (even more) hot drinks here.

And I have new books -- one of which is calling louder than the others. (No, it's not the Moore.)

Love you all dearly, but I'd be wasting a perfectly good reading night if I spent any more of it on the computer.

The Moore I read, the more I like.

Tea: White Grapefruit

Music: Johnny Cash, "Hurt"

Time: Night.

A few weeks ago, someone asked me to name the best book I'd read this year. My answer: George MacDonald's Phantastes (a book I should have discovered long ago, by an author I should have discovered long ago.)

Had someone asked me to name the author whose work has given me the most pleasure this year, though, I'd have blurted out Christopher Moore's name in a heartbeat.

I hadn't heard of him until this year, either -- but that was before I was given several of his books (Bloodsucking Fiends, Lamb and The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove, followed later by Fluke) by someone far more generous than I deserve. Now, Moore is among my favorite writers -- and people are still giving me his work.

With members of the extended family in for a visit, we had early Christmas at the house last night. And in one of my parcels, I found a copy of Coyote Blue.

I suppose tonight's song should have been "Give Me Just a Little Moore Time" or "More, More, Moore" ...

Nahhhh. Can't go wrong with Johnny Cash, either.

The Spice Must Flow

Tea: Blood Orange (herbal) with cloves

Music: Kimberli Kircher, "Baby It's Cold Outside"

Time: Night.

After drinking a quart and a half of free coffee today at Morning Glory Espresso (where a local electrician pays for everyone's house brew on Mondays), I've had quite enough caffeine, thank you.

Besides, I feel inspired to try a little seasonal sipping tonight -- and the combination of blood orange and cloves sounds intriguing. (It's still steeping as I type this part.)

And ... the first steeping's done. Time for a sniff.

The spice (a generous pinch, six whole cloves) is noticeable, warm against the sharpness of the blood orange.

Sipping ...

I could have used more cloves, perhaps -- but it's not half bad at first taste, and it gets better after that. The spice comes up through the mix as the tea cools, warming the back of the throat. The sensation continues down into the chest (Pleasant, that.), and the aroma of the cloves lingers well beyond each sip.

Second steeping coming up.

Lots more clove at first sniff this time. First sip, too. And as before, it grows as the tea cools -- but still plays nicely against the citrus.

All this warmth is making me sleepy, though. So I'm going to finish this cup, read a little Merwin as I do so and then turn in.

Orange tea, Green Knight ... good night.

Yummy Yellow Yips

Tea: Vanilla Jasmine

Music: Relient K, "Santa Claus is Thumbin' to Town"

Time: Night.

I cook, but I don't bake ... much. Not enough opportunities for tinkering during the "apply heat to food" stage, which doesn't sit well with my ADD.

There are exceptions, though -- although one of them is still in the future.

I made a sweet potato pie (from scratch, I'll have you know) for Thanksgiving. It turned out pretty well.

There's an Irish soda bread recipe I want to try this winter.

And until this past week, I was a whiz at skillet cornbread.

Then, the other night, I put in too much milk (not too too much, just a sixth of a cup over, but it did make the batter noticeably runnier). The result was lighter than usual -- and pretty darn good for a mistake.

Tonight, I melted the butter ... and then, of course, forgot to put it in. (I wondered why the batter didn't want to spread in the skillet.)

The result was thinner and crisper than usual. And again, it didn't taste half bad (especially with butter and honey).

There's no hiding it. I've got the cornbread yips.

Then again, if I'm going to screw up what little baking skills I do have, I suppose it doesn't hurt to be dealing with quite possibly the most forgiving foodstuff on the planet. (Salmon's a close second, although it tends to get a bit peevish when left on the fire too long.)

I can't wait to see what mistake I'll make next. It's sure to be delicious ...

Not Every Story Gives the Whole Picture

Tea: Mango Strawberry with milk and honey

Music: Don Henley, "Not Enough Love in the World"

Time: Night.

A few weeks ago, I read what appeared to be a badly reported newspaper review of an art show at a local gallery. (No names in this one. I deal with parties on all sides, you see.)

The show is controversial, thought-provoking and a fascinating combination of reverent and edgy -- and yet there was no mention of the personal views the artist holds on the subject at the heart of his works.

I used the word "weak" to describe the review. "Sloppy," too -- and, by extension, I thought of the writer as also possessing those (dubious) qualities.

Then, today -- while talking to the director of the gallery in question -- I found out I was wrong.

Oh, the story as presented was weak -- but only because an editor cut out two-thirds of it, something that left the writer heartsick and frantically calling people to explain.

And suddenly, I was the one who hadn't done his legwork.

It's a nasty thing, presumption -- especially given that I've had editors cut out key points or even insert mistakes into pieces I've written. (I should not here that I have had far more good editors than bad.)

I used to joke that it was better to assume the worst about people, because pleasant surprises are always better than unpleasant ones. I think it's time to scrap that attitude, even in jest. This is another case where it hasn't served me well.

The Crunch of Loose Leaves Underfoot

Tea: Christmas

Music: Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble, "Pride and Joy"

Time: Night.

I walked on some perfectly good jasmine tea tonight, and I didn't get in trouble.

The tea is an integral part of printmaker Heinrich Toh's exhibit at the Kansas City Artists Coalition. (It runs through Jan. 16, so go see it. No, I'm not explaining why I didn't get in trouble for stepping on the tea. Some things you have to check out for yourselves.)

The scent is still with me, in memory as much as in the physical sense.

I associate jasmine with the first time I discovered loose-leaf tea (I was eight) ... with the Hong Kong Restaurant (which no longer exists) in my hometown ... with an early spring visit to Arizona ... and now, with one of the many artists whose work enriches my current home city.

Not a bad set of associations, that ...

If at 42nd you don't succeed ...

Tea: Mango Strawberry

Music: Nik Kershaw, "Human Racing"

Time: Night.

I had something I wanted to say.

I can't remember it now. It's gone into the ether, the same place my missing emails and postcards go.

My only hope is that the reason my thought's gone is that the postcard I sent today has slipped through the net and will actually reach its recipient. This, of course, would anger the Lords of Bad Communications Karma ... but I can live with that.

Now if I can just think of what I wanted to say here.

Nope.

Nothing.

Oh, well. Watch this. It's better than my fumbling rambles (frambles?) ...

Flights of Paper Angels

Tea: Chinese Melon Seed

Music: Missing Persons, "Words"

Time: Night.

I'm going to invoke proud father's privilege and brag on my teenagers.

Year after year, they race to an artificial Christmas tree in the church lobby and scrutinize the paper angels hanging from its branches.

Each angel bears a child's name and age, something the child would like for Christmas (or that the parent would like to give, if the child is too young to speak for himself or herself). There's also a message from the parent to the child -- messages the parents can't give in person because they're behind bars.

The Angel Tree program is not unique to Prison Fellowship International, of course. Other Angel Trees benefit children of poverty, or families facing severe financial hardship. But this is the one we know best.

It's a lean year here, too. But my teenagers weren't about to give the Angel Tree a pass. They saved up money they'd been given, they each picked a paper angel -- and tonight, we dropped off the wrapped gifts at church. They'll be opened at a party for the children on Saturday.

(The kids and their parents won't be forced to profess any faith to take part and receive the gifts, by the way. I wouldn't support the program if they were.)

Occasionally, there are grumbles that we shouldn't "reward" convicts by purchasing Christmas presents for their children -- as though somehow the kids deserved to be punished for their parents' misdeeds. (Do people really think, "Hey, that's a great idea! Let's further isolate these children and convince them they're not worthy of Christmas! What better way to show Christian charity?")

Anyway ... they'll never brag on themselves. They just do it because they love doing it. And that's another reason to be proud of them ...

The minor fall, the major lift ...

Tea: Lapsang Souchong.

Music: Jeff Buckley, "Hallelujah"

Time: Almost midnight.

Yesterday was warm enough that a quilted jacket over a long-sleeved knit shirt felt like too much.

Today, it snowed. Somewhere during the afternoon, the wind kicked up -- and it's still blowing.

Tonight, it feels as though the cold is something not quite alive but also not entirely dead, something that wants to drape itself around my shoulders and dig in its claws.

But the warmth will return. It always does ...

Doesn't it?

Eurocravings

Tea: Christmas.

Music: The Steve Miller Band, "Serenade"

Time: Night.

It didn't feel like the leading edge of winter today. It felt like my first few days in Germany for the 2006 World Cup ... and that was in June.

Made me wish I were back there ... and I'm craving some of the things I haven't tasted since I got back (although I have found a local source for sulze and leberkase.)

Funny thing is, several of the things I'm craving weren't native.

The Bismarckbrotchen (cold herring sandwiches) and maetjes (cold fried herring; do you sense a theme here?) are German, as are the meat dishes cited above. But I also miss Croatian food and drink from Balkan Sonne, and the doner sandwiches (somewhat like a gyro, but with different bread and toppings) from the late-night places run by Turkish immigrants.

And the strawberries, whose sweetness remains unmatched ...

It's a mixed blessing, having a vivid sense memory. I can taste all of those things in my mind ... which just makes it harder not to be able to have them in real life.

Now More than Ever

Tea: Mandarin Green with ginger and honey.

Music: Elvis Costello and the Attractions, "Almost Blue"

Time: Night.

I know ... we're in a recession, and every nickel counts.

But now is not the time to stop giving, even if the form the gift takes has to change.

I don't mean Christmas presents. I mean the things that keep people fed, warm, clothed.

No spare change to drop in a kettle? I'm not going to call you a liar. I've been there.

But you -- we, I, whoever -- can volunteer to serve meals. We can donate clothes. We can help each other look for work. Sometimes, we can just listen to someone who's facing a first holiday season without a job or a loved one -- or both.

It's a different and more intimate investment, giving yourself along with -- or instead of -- your money. But in the book I hold sacred, we're asked to give what we have ... even if all we have to give is ourselves.

Inside, Outside, T-E-A

Tea: Oolong No. 18

Music: Holly Cole, "River"

Time: Night.

I made the tea just before leaving the house late this afternoon, because I hadn't had any caffeine yet today and I could feel a withdrawal headache coming on.

The travel mug I chose wasn't as insulated as some others I have, and I could feel the heat from the tea seeping through to my hands. As I was riding on a bus with a bum heater, this was a good thing.

The warming was more than physical, though. There was the warmth of gratitude for small pleasures, for the things (clean water, electricity) that went into making the tea -- things I take for granted, but which much of the world cannot ... and for the generosity of the giver not only of the tea, but of the teakettle and the infuser.

In cold times, it's good to be warmed that deeply.

Back and Out and Back Again.

Tea: Pu Erh Dante

Music: UK, "Night After Night"

Time: Night.

Back after an early winter bug hiatus. I envy those who can will themselves well.

First Friday tonight, which began as a work obligation and ended with good conversation.

It is easy, I think, to see artists as only artists, writers as only writers, editors as only editors -- and forget that there are other facets as well. Tonight was a good reminder that at heart ... some of us just like to talk about food and play Scrabble.

(Well, we didn't actually play tonight. But we talked about it.)

Several cool things seen, but it's late and I need to sleep. More later, I'm sure.

Awaiting a message on a message

Tea: Vanilla Lapsang

Music: U2, "A Sort of Homecoming"

Time: Night.

I have the worst postal karma of anyone I know. Things get to me from other people, but getting things to other people from me ... remains problematic.

(It's one of the reasons we went to auto withdrawal to pay bills. Seriously.)

Hope holds on, though. Tomorrow, I find out if I managed to get a postcard through the Postal Triangle.

Fingers crossed ...