Tea With Me 21st August, 2018 Tuesday

Tea With Me  Tuesday, August 21, 2018

I dreamt last night about Berlin under siege.  Berlin today.  And America did not know or care until they could feel it.  I went to Berlin to visit and in an apartment building which had some draw for me, the evacuating residents were insisting on spraying pesticides all over the apartments and me.  And then there was Fire.

I dreamt about being in a second hand clothes shop with a friend.  I was mesmerized by a bright ruby red evening gown, high necked, scoop-to-the-butt-backed, with a cape to rival any true Fairy Kingdom’s Queen’s garb.  Yes, it could have been an outtake from a Drag Queen’s Ball Wardrobe, but it drew me.  The price was $69, more than my friend could afford.  Then there was a man with a gun.

Awake this morning to another day of smoke filtered sunlight.  My bed is full of me, dogs of varying sizes and biggest of all, my husband.  All are still sleeping as I rise to empty my internal tank.  The room is womblike in the orange smoke flavored sunlight, its melon paint saturated with my beloved peach melon hues.  My window reveals the copse of scrub oaks mantled in its morning haze.  I am grateful for all of this.  

Emptied, I shuffle the smaller dog bodies away from my hotspot on the mattress they always gravitate towards when I rise, and submit to a dachshund’s morning joy at my presence.  So small and yet so full of that simple joy blasting its way to my slightly annoyed heart.  

Then settled.  I browse Facebook for a while to see what Dog Europe has been up to while I dreamt.  Then the Zoi pup, one of the designated bed three and growing rapidamente, having snarfled at a cow hoof for the ten minutes I have been Facebooking, is no longer content to snarfle as her tanks are calling also.  She rises to a sit and stretches.  Her beloved Saluki has started to softly call to us.  Her presence in his pack family has inspired his gentle soul to cede his bed spot to her.  His night perch is an antique armchair, my grandfather’s and father’s favorite in the room just beyond the bedroom.  Its time.

I rise. Don the bathrobe I bought from a hotel in Carmel for my husband 11 years ago, slip tevas on my feet, phone and airpod case in the satchel I use to ferry things up and down the stairs, slip that on my shoulder and pick up the dachshund who just won’t do stairs, and lead the pack of six downstairs to the front door and the ensuing zoom to release their big and little tanks in the fenced yard with that lovely old stone wall.  

To tea.  Pots on, dishwasher is emptied, glass of water and the first phase of daily supplements down my hatch, and I am looking at the counter of vegetables which arrived the afternoon before from the weekly delivery of my CSA alotment.  

The ground sourcing this bounty belongs to and is brilliantly farmed by my son in law’s sister and her husband.  Now my son in law and sometimes my daughter are the extra hands on the farm.  Huge Kohlrabi, August tomatoes and deep soft green explosion of kale leaves engulf the surface of my large counter.   The green beans, squashes, carrots, and peppers have already found their way into my refrigerator.   I bag the Kale and Kohlrabi, place them in the fridge and find my tea cup.

Tea pots done. Tea is poured and timer set.  Its a fine green infused with jasmine and a 3 minutes steep is the best.  My almost fully German husband taught me that.  Dogs collected to come in as the smokey air is not good for them to stay outside.  Pup is most reluctant but she comes.  My husband appears, robed in something he preferred, and sleepily wanders his way to coffee, espresso-very precisely brewed.  But before all that, he  wraps me to his chest in the circle of his powerful arms.  We chat about air quality and the filters in the portable air conditioners we bought six weeks ago to stave off the heat wave.  Three story house, no air.  Built before climate shift.  Oh well.  

I sit to type.  With tea.  Dogs are sleeping except for Zoi pup who finds her ball and starts her game of self hypnotic ball.  

The idea is to write with morning tea every day for…a week?  Maybe I can do it.  We will see.  I am not a person who is happy in a box and commitment to an exercise like this is frought with authority issues for me.  Ha.  

Like I said, we will see.  

Happy Birthday to my Dear Dear K!!!