Warm, Comforting Ritual

Recently I shifted from coffee to tea. It’s part of a health issue but also, you know, I like tea. Jack and I have shifted three or four times between these two life-giving morning drinks over the course of our marriage.

Part of the health shift includes being a little more deliberate, a little more gentle, with food and time and intentions to adhere to schedules in the first place. Life in the slow lane is a good place to be, and tea is a way of being there in some surprising ways.

When you make coffee, it stays hot awhile and fresh awhile. Now some foodies will tell you that after about 45 minutes it’s not worth drinking, but most of us don’t mind, so long as it’s not scorched. Like gas station coffee that’s sat around all day. Coffee is largely forgiving. Heck, you can even throw in some ice cubes and drink it cold and be a hipster. It’s all good.

But tea, well, there is a ritual aspect to its preparation and a window to its taste. Jack sets up coffee the night before; flick the switch in the morning and it’s ready to roll.

Tea water has to be made in the kettle that morning. As it reaches boil, you pour a little into two vessels: the pot warmed and cleansed, the mug heated. Then you put the bags into the pot: one for each drinker, and one for the pot. Only then can you pour the rest of the hot water in. Put your cozy over the pot. Give it a few minutes. Too soon and you are drinking what my English friend calls pealy-wally rabbit piss tea. Wrong color, not near strong enough.

But if you forget and come back in twenty minutes or so, your tea is bitter, overbrewed, and worse, starting to cool.

I used to count stress days by how many reheating revolutions my coffee took in the microwave. A bad day was 5. Tea doesn’t play this kind of game. Drink it warm, or make it into iced tea, or waste it. Tea does not accept excuses. Once it’s in the pot, the clock starts.

Which is bemusing, because tea demanding this time makes the time protected, precious. This is when you have your devotions, play the morning word games online. Check your overnight phone messages, but don’t ANSWER them. Set up your strategy for the day. Sipping each cup, a little ritual inside a larger one.

Tea makes time by demanding it. Coffee will follow you anywhere, anytime. Tea demands loyalty and mindfulness.

I’m enjoying my morning tea rituals, and I’m learning to pay attention to the window of warm comfort opportunity in the pot. It’s all part of life in the slow-down lane.

Safe Places and Coffee–

A conversation with a friend kicked off this post from Jack – –

Way back when Wendy and I were courting and she was studying for her Folklore PhD in Newfoundland, she wrote a paper on coffee and its position in different cultures and societies. Before it was published in an eminent folkways magazine, she sent it to me in Scotland. Part of it was about women creating a safe place where they could gather, drink coffee, and share their experiences.

At the time I was head of a large department in a community college and had two secretaries handling different parts of my job. Louise dealt with my three EU-funded environmental education projects with partners around Europe. Sarah did all the paperwork to do with the mundane day-to-day departmental stuff.

In Wendy’s paper she explained that when the women who gathered for coffee were invaded by men, they would immediately switch to talking about things that embarrass men to drive them away.

I knew that Louise and Sarah would meet each morning with the other secretaries at our end of the college for coffee in one of their offices. There were usually about five or six of them and, varying ages but all women.

One morning I was hit with a job that required their help, so I went in search and stumbled into where they were ensconced –  –

As I walked in they were talking about – pregnancies, breast feeding, menopause – –

To this day I don’t know if that’s actually what they were already talking about or if they were just ‘showing me the door’!

Come back next Wednesday for more from Jack