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Make yourself at home. Put your feet up. Grab your favorite beverage and prepare to enjoy the reads.
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Showing posts with label Tea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tea. Show all posts

Monday

Letter to a Dead Mother (2)


Dear Mom,

It was nice to smell the aroma of my childhood today as I sipped my cup of coffee. Yes, it's true! I didn't have my tea. I made me a "cuppa" in remembrance of you. Wish you could sit here with me to enjoy it.

I wonder if there is anything to the notion of treating ancestors to earthly gifts. Would it be nice for you if you could get a whiff? A taste? Kats has a shelf where pictures of his parents are displayed. Every morning he puts a cup of coffee and a bowl of rice in front of them, out of respect and remembrance.

I remember when Dad was close to death and he couldn't eat, he said he didn't miss food. But, coffee... oh if he could just have a taste! So, we dipped a cloth in a cup of coffee and touched it to his tongue. Would you have liked that?

No, I think not. In your last days you were a chai drinker. Weren't you? Tomorrow I will make a cup of chai and drink it joyfully in honor of you. Yes, honor you. I didn't do enough of that when you were around, except maybe on Mother's Day, Birthday, Christmas. The rest of the year, you knocked yourself out working for a living and being our mom. How did you do it back in the 1950's when being a working mom was not very acceptable? I certainly didn't appreciate it. I felt resentful that I had to babysit and do things around the house while other kids were out playing. And it didn't help that others made it clear to me how "deprived of a childhood" I was. Especially other adults!

I remember some neighbor saying, "Oh? Your mother works? She should be home taking care of you kids! Tsk, Tsk."  Soon I decided to not mention your being employed. I let my resentment simmer. Today, of course, a woman who is co-owner of a business, present on the job, AND a mother is valued. Today you could have held your head high for your achievements and not be embarrassed. And perhaps I would have been proud of my mom and the responsibilities she entrusted me with.

I remember that last decade of your life, Mom. You fussed and worried and apologized repeatedly. "I should never have left you kids on your own. I should have been there for you. Maybe things would have been better if I never worked."

James and Genevieve Deane, Easter 1950s
8295 Laughlin Dr. Niagara Falls New York 
I don't know how many times we all tried to reassure you that things really were better for us that way. We all became quite self-sufficient and independent. I didn't envy other kids much for having their mothers at home nagging on them all the time, making them mind their manners, making them stay indoors when the whole outdoors was our playground. We had freedom, Mom! Other kids didn't have that. I secretly felt quite smug about that.

I could go across the street to the park and swing on the swings when other kids had to come in and do their homework. I could watch cartoons all Saturday morning if I liked. I learned how to shop for food on my own. All of us kids had freedom to wander and wonder at what other kids were forbidden. We played in the woods nearby. We dug in the dirt without worrying about getting dirty. We had life as a gift to discover without constraint. Some people thought we were a bit wild. And yes, some parents wouldn't let their kids play with us. So what? We didn't like those prissy kids all that much anyways.

Mom, I hope there is a way now, you can see that it all worked out for the best. Can you see we are all getting through life with solid confidence that we can make it, regardless of the challenges? We learned to make mistakes. Unlike other kids, we knew how to fall down and pick ourselves up.  If we scraped our knees, we knew to go home, clean up, put a band aid on, and get back out in the world ourselves. You kissed our boo boos later, if we thought to tell you. Me? I usually didn't. I was too busy complaining about having to do the dishes or whining about having to clean my room. But, only when you really got after me to get those things done.

Of course, there were a few motherly cuddles we missed. But, you were there for us when we grew up and you didn't have to work, couldn't work, anymore. I could call you anytime and tell you all my problems. You didn't try to tell me what to do. You listened. You held your tongue. I know it was hard for you. I know now you could see I was making the same mistakes you had. I wonder if it would have been different if your mother hadn't died when I was a baby. Maybe she would have told you. Then, maybe you could have guided me in the same way. You had no experience raising kids, or relating to your adult kids. Yet, I blamed you for not being a better mom. Yet there I was as a troubled adult, reaching out to you. It's so odd, now that I think about it. Sometimes I thought you were my worst enemy. But, I look back and see you weren't.

I didn't realize it at the time, but your listening to me on the phone was better than gold to me. You know better than anyone the twisted turmoil I inflicted upon myself the secrets of my heart, the troubles of my soul. You put up with a lot of my taking it out on you, my blaming you for my troubles.

I remember you saying, "Yes, yes, it's always the mother's fault her kids are unhappy. Just ask any shrink!" I didn't know how much that hurt you, that we couldn't be close. You bent over backwards to help me, to be there for me. But, you didn't know what I needed. Not really. How could you have known? I certainly didn't. You didn't have a parenting manual. You didn't have a psychology degree to help you with your unstable daughter. How it must have tormented you when I couldn't get effective treatment, when I got so despondent I didn't want to live. I can barely stand it when my own daughter faces her grief. What pains her, pains me. I don't know how you did it, Mom.

I know sometimes you got upset, you worried about me doing the wrong thing, worried I was suffering because of the way I lived my life. Some mothers turn their backs on their adult children when they don't like how they live. Some mothers let go of the apron strings right when the kids leave the nest. They disconnect from their kids, then wonder why they are so distant. They live out their "golden years" disenchanted.

Grown up or not, I was still your child. I remember you saying that more than once. I think the last time you said that to me was when you were eighty-six, and I was sixty-one. "No matter how old you are, you will always be my child".

Whether it is real or not, whether you know what I'm feeling or not, it doesn't matter. I'm so glad I finally found this way to feel connected to you again. It's been a lonely five years without you.

You know what Mom? No matter where you are now, you'll always be my mother.

Saturday

Another Cup Runneth Over

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.

Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor’s cup full, and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself.

“It is overfull. No more will go in!” He said.

“Like this cup,” Nan-in said, “you are full of your own opinions and speculations.

How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”

Monday

How to Save Your Drowned Cell Phone

The other day my cell phone fell into a cup of Earl Grey tea. Today it is working just fine. What's my secret? you may ask. I'm glad to tell you what I did to save my phone.

Rather than cleaning myself up, or the table or floor where the tea splashed, I grabbed my celly and held it to the nearest piece of fabric, my t-shirt, and immediately began wiping dry. Then I quickly turned the phone upside down and pressed the fabric firmly against the keys, which leaked out a little more fluid. The hard part was next. I tried to open the little door that has the battery in it. I had to really work at it. I couldn't remember the trick to opening it. So, I highly recommend you practice once in a while. Time is of the essence. When I got the battery out, it had very little moisture. Quite minimal, in fact. Still I put the cloth to it. Forgot to mention that during all this I had frantically pulled my t-shirt off to provide this drying service to my celly as I ran to the kitchen.

The next part is the absolute most important. If you don 't have any rice on hand, you will be out of luck, so go out to the store and stock up. Will ya?

With the battery removed and the door to it left off, I put my cell phone into a bowl and covered it completely with dry rice. Now this is not the time to fuss that it is not whole grain. You definitely will have more effective results if you use white rice. Why does this work? Because rice will absorb the rest of the moisture that may be hidden in the crannies of your phone. Just like when you cook rice on the stove, it absorbs the water in order to become soft and fluffy food.

Reminder!!! Rice must be uncooked... dry!

Now this is the hard part! You have GOT to leave that phone in the bowl of rice undisturbed for at least 24 hours. Can you do that? If not, then it's time to admit you might have an attachment problem with your phone. If you run out to the phone store and pay a ridiculous price to have a new one immediately then we are talking addiction. It may be time for intervention! Reconsider your priorities!

So, after the allotted time, and then some, I rescued my phone from it's ricey rest, popped the battery back in and smoothly replaced the little door to the battery as if I did this sort of thing every day. VoilĂ ! I can now use my cell. Text me!

Now, I just gotta figure out how to get that dried tea stain out of the carpet!

I Love Lemon in My Tea

I have a lemon tree growing in my front yard, that produces the most delicious lemons. These are a special breed of lemons called Meyer lemons. Aren't the blossoms lovely? The fragrance is intoxicating.

I love lemon in my tea. That's why I planted the tree! I am seldom without lemons. Sometimes I have so many, I need to squeeze them all and put them in a jar in the refrigerator. Some say to put them in ice cube trays, but then the resulting ice cube would be too much a dose of lemon for my individual 20 ounce tea cup. I mean mug. I have a collection of the most wonderful dainty porcelain and china tea cups, but only bring them out when friends come over. My tea pot only holds four cups, so my mug is for when I am by myself and can guzzle to my heart's content.

According to sources, adding a squeeze of lemon juice to black tea clears the liquid. It changes from a dark, opaque brown to a transparent deep red-orange in a matter of seconds.

The reaction makes the tea lose not just the brown color but also the astringency, so strong black tea can be made more drinkable this way - especially with the addition of a little sweetener to take the edge off the flavor.


Lemon tea made this way remains flavorful at any temperature, and recipes for iced tea often call for the addition of lemon. Incidentally, orange juice is also acid enough to remove most of the tea's astringency, as well as sweetening it; it sounds weird, but it's actually pretty good. Some call this Russian Tea.

Lemons are so good for us, and are used in many ways. One of most people's favorite way to ingest lemons is through homemade lemonade, or lemonade iced tea, also known as an Arnold Palmer, named after the golfer who enjoyed his tea made half and half with lemonade. The latest offerings in restaurants have been raspberry or strawberry flavored iced tea. But, I don't care for them. I only drink hot tea when I go out. Apparently bacteria and mold can build up in restaurant containers. I just wish one thing. When I go out and order tea, I wish the lemon accompanying my cup would be more than a half slice. When I have asked for a wedge, I always get a surprised look. So few people drink tea, it is not understood that you cannot easily squeeze the juice out of a slice.