I just watched my hands wash the tea kettle. Maybe for the first or second time, ever. My mother used to wash it I suppose or it would have looked worse. Somehow the thought process was, one episode of House of Cards, boom, jump to my feet, a blog post, a cup of tea. You won’t find my lecturing you on the art of teas. No, that’s more for people that don’t really have anything to say. People that lecture, that want to educate on a subject as if you’d pressed a wikipedia button, not my kind of people. Went on a date with someone like that once. Smartest, sexiest girl I ever thought I’d sat next to at a bar. I felt myself loosen my collar as I awkwardly rose and sat down on the stool. Three hours later, she got up to go to the bathroom, and I felt the blood rushing back to my face, my dick was the only thing ticking and as the bartender came over and we both stared at each other.
“What’s wrong with that girl?” lol, that was the first real thing I’d heard in three hours. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” I said. My favorite bar was at that moment, a prison and I was locked in, three hours counting with someone so dull with such a talent for regurgitation in their thought process, the bartender and I wanted to make a run for it together.
I promise to never lecture you.
To quote Fahrenheit 451, ” ‘I don’t talk things, sir.’ Said Faber. ‘I talk the meaning of things. I sit here and know I’m alive.’ ”
As I washed this green Chantal tea kettle that had been given to me as a gift, I wondered why I was doing it. Why does so much time pass between certain activities. That isn’t a cleaning question, I could give less of a fuck about cleaning as much as to wonder why, why things happen when they do. People often neglect to wash the outside of tea kettles.
Making tea was my alternative to drinking in College when I needed to get reading done, tea. I didn’t have the Chantal then, I had an awkward tin milk warmer that I poured water into and put on the stove. I’d jump out of my bed, I was a senior alone in a dorm full of freshmen, I’d walk down the hallway quietly to the shared kitchen and turn on the burner. My mind would ease.
Chamomile, Peppermint. This isn’t a lecture, its a recipe for success.
Why haven’t I had tea for pleasure in the last few years? Like not just making it and forgetting about it. And why haven’t I washed the beautiful fucking kettle. How could I allow it to look like such shit.
Is this how to treat a sword?
Its better than a coffee maker. Coffee makers don’t have personality. My green kettle is there to take in the day. The coffee maker is there to prevent myself from telling the world to fuck off before 12pm. Maybe I should get an espresso machine.
Do you have a favorite object, a symbol of peace you stare at from the back of your mind, through your days that you’ve neglected?
Make some tea, find the object, talk to it.