Another Candle is Lit

Tea: Mandarin Orange

Music: Leonard Cohen, "Everybody Knows"

Time: Night.

Until today, my son's involvement with tea consisted of reading Steep Thoughts over my shoulder.

This morning, he was milling around the kitchen looking for something hot to drink with his biscuits and preserves.

"Want some tea?" I asked.

He thought.

"Got any subtle tea?" he asked, cracking himself up at his own pun.

I refused to bite.

"This is green tea," I said, indicating the Mandarin Green (which you might remember from earlier posts as "candletea," because it makes me think of festive holiday gatherings and never fails to lift my mood). "It's pretty light."

"So it's ... subtle tea?"

"Yes," I said with a sigh. "It's subtle tea. I was about to make some, but you can have my first steeping and I'll take the second."

Even without honey, he likes it. Great. He already takes my socks. Now I have to keep an eye on my tea stash, too.

A minor case of the icks.

Tea: Stomach Soother

Music: Chaka Khan, "Through the Fire"

Time: Night.

My insides have gone a bit squirrelly. All of the holiday indulgence, I'm sure. Between the big turkey dinner (and all the leftovers) and tonight's traditional putting-up-the-tree spread of summer sausage and cheese, I'm reminded that my stomach capacity isn't what it used to be.

("Squirrelly" seems an apt word, in conjunction with overeating. The squirrels in my neighborhood are fat this year. At least the economy hasn't affected acorn and black walnut growth.)

Hmm ... maybe I should put out a bowl of this tea for them.

Maybe once I'm a bit less dyspeptic myself ...

A Black Friday indeed ...

Tea: Chinese Melon Seed

Music: James Taylor, "Shower the People"

Time: Night.

Yet another sign that the world continues to spin upside down.

It was horrifying enough that people would put saving a few dollars over the life of a human being, so much so that they ran over workers trying to save the trampled man and then kept on shopping while store officials tried to shut down in the wake of the tragedy.

This man wasn't a part of the machinery. He went to work trying to keep body and soul together in a tough economy, and had them separated by a mindless mob bent on snapping up cheap (in every sense) goods.

It's also disconcerting (although not so much as today's death) that people were so desperate to feed the economy of a frenemy country that they lined up Thursday morning -- a day before the "bargain"-hunting orgy that is the Friday after Thanksgiving.

God save us from the madding crowd ...

Thankful to be Back

Tea: Berry Blush herbal

Music: Vince Guaraldi, "Charlie Brown Thanksgiving"

Time: Night.

For the past week, Blogger has been telling me my browser's cookie functionality was disabled. It wasn't.

Oh, well. I'm back -- and on Thanksgiving day, no less.

So, before my cookies disable themselves again, here's my trio of immediate gratitudes:

1. I and mine ate well today, and we have leftovers. So many in this world didn't and don't.

2. I have been able to renew several connections that had lapsed through no one's fault. Life just gets in the way sometimes -- but it's good to be back in touch.

3. I am not alone in the world -- and I have a chance every day to reach out to others so that they know they aren't, either.

I know that's four out of three. I can be greedy about gratitudes if I want.

But as Mick and Keith would say ...

Tea: Mandarin Green

Music: Poe, "Haunted"

Time: Night.

Suddenly ... out of somewhere ... I want a Chicago dog.

I mean, really really really want one. With the celery salt and the nuclear green relish and everything.

That's all. I just thought you should know.

An Odd Sort of Growing Season

Tea: Chocolate Cherry

Music: Heart, "Treat Me Well"

Time: Night.

It turned cold and windy tonight. Goodbye, Indian summer. Hello, pre-winter.

It's not entirely a bad thing. I seem to be sort of an anti-plant (which might not make sense outside my own head).

To wit: When the days get shorter and cooler, that's when I tend to grow the most -- and not merely in the "pack on the winter pounds" sense.

Autumn has always been a season of change for me, a time of doing something new (sometimes shedding something old in the process). It's when I feel most productive, most in tune with the world around me -- in short, most alive. Paradoxically, it's also when I tend to rent a room in my own head and live there for long stretches. The sense of engagement with the world is no weaker and no less real -- it's just that the definition of "world" is particularly fluid this time of year.

What will this year's change be? I don't yet know. I believe that I'll be shown, somehow, and that the sign will be unmistakable.

Here's hoping for a good harvest ...

Swedish Jesus and the Stubborn Flat Tire

Tea: Christmas

Music: New pieces for solo flute

Time: Almost midnight.

It's late. I'm tired. So rather than go through the night blow by blow, I'll just answer your questions before you even have to ask them.

Trust me, it'll save time.

Swedish Jesus is a composer, who looks -- well, like those church pictures which look nothing like the real Jesus. Long blond hair, trimmed blond beard. I heard his name, but I don't remember it.

Yes, he was one of the composers of the ten new flute pieces I heard tonight at Pi Gallery, where I went to hear said flute music and see Maria Creyts' artwork again.

My favorite painting from the show? In this moment, Serena. Love that green.

My favorite flute piece? Probably "Continental Divide," composed by Chris Wu and performed by Rebecca Ashe. It would have been a great addition to the score of a Hitchcock film -- near the climax, where the villain (Robert Shaw) and hero (Paul Newman) move toward a fateful rendezvous -- neither knowing that they are both being stalked by someone even more villainous (Rod Steiger).

Yes, the art show is still up. It runs through Nov. 29. Go see it.

The flat tire was on a car belonging to two of the flutists. I helped to change it. The old tire and wheel didn't want to come off. It took a good seven minutes of prying (with intermittent tire-iron taps) to get it dislodged.

No, I don't know why. Maybe it was just evil.

It takes two flutists, three composers, one highly amused artist and one writer to change a flat tire.

And yes, "Swedish Jesus and the Stubborn Flat Tire" would be a great name for a band.