Tea Accouterments
I was at a white elephant Christmas party tonight, and a dear friend of mine stole a tea pot that I had stolen from another dear friend. I truly dipped my head as my 8 year old spirit revealed itself in the pout of my un-endearing 28 year old body. Why was the disappointment so acute?
The teaspoon, the favorite mug, antique tea cup, the milk pouring device, the process. The very act of pouring the steam emitting-rich colored-diffused drink into my cup is an act of appreciation. I drink it slow in its straight-up form and let the flavors run along my tongue. The same effect exists as I add a little oat milk, so damn creamy. And then so much sugar, so damn sweet. Even in the hand holding of temperature and time, the hot to tepid to cold of my tea denotes the passing of my day. My ever changing tea accompanies me with all of these delightful books, writings, and movies. There are certainly moments for fast pace, sometimes necessary with life’s demands, but this tea experience, an homage to the delicate Japanese ritual, is my soul affirming slow down.
That is why I pout. But I still love my dear friend.