Tinsel and Tin

Oh, is it Wednesday already? Cripes, Wednesday is actually almost a thing of the past. Not only is it late Wednesday, but it's boxing time, too. By this I don't mean shopping, or the thing those lugheads do in the ring. It's boxing time, as in time to box the tinsel. Remember tinsel? (Is that stuff still legal?) Remember when we used to fling those weightless, metallic fettuccine-length strands all over the Christmas tree? Limp, glimmering icicles drooped in big clumps at various levels around the balsam fir. Then handmade ornaments, painted wood Santas, and origami geese were tucked in every crevice. The big-bulbed tree lights, multicolored and backed by tin reflectors, were turned on with much pomp and circum-stance, Christmas music blaring from the Hi-Fi.

There is no tinsel or tin to take from my tree. None to box. But every once in a while, Mother will haul certain vintage items out of attic storage. I want to tell her how amazing she is for keeping all this stuff, but I don't want to encourage her. Stuff. She keeps it all. Everything. I want to say, Look Mom, you know the only place you can find this Stuff now is in your attic or on Etsy? Sometimes, she'll bring something by the house, asking if I want to keep it (like my elementary school report cards, worn high school jackets, and coupon books—good for one dish washing, redeem for best behavior—that I made for her when I was eight). And of course, I must. So now my basement is starting to look like her attic. And here I am trying to purge, declutter.

But I don't mind.

I love this Stuff. I think I'll get me a warm cup of tea and go boxing now.

Drink Tea (For The Love of God!)

Mad Hatter's Tea Cups at Disney Magic Kingdom

It seems peculiar that I'm no longer faced with a looming deadline, but the serendipitous result of that tragic loss is that my murky mind is now open to some free association, and I've been spinning my saucer silly. No kidding! I've already come up with some nifty ideas and one real solution to a running conundrum. (Seriously, haven't you ever seen a conundrum run?)

I love tea. That's not the problem, but getting my tea is. It's the actual tea making process that's been a bit of an issue. For one thing, I like teapots. Wouldn't dream of sticking a cup of water in the microwave. I like turning on my gas stovetop and letting the water slowly warm. I like hearing the teapot whistle at me, letting me know I'm wanted. Only lately, my teapot hasn't whistled. Maybe I'm getting too old. No more whistles. The fact is, though, that my teapot never whistled, even if it was turned on.

So, this has been a little problem for me, the lack of attention and all. Especially since I'm working in the dining room, which, as you know, is more than a few paces from the kitchen (but not far enough away). Very stressful. You see, I fill the pot, put it on the stove, return to my work—all perfectly reasonable steps, right?—and then promptly forget that I'm making tea.... until about a half hour, or more, later when I realize that I am missing my tea. This is when my heart begins to beat wildly and I race to the kitchen to save my teapot from near death—being rendered bone dry, and scorched beyond recognition.

Unfortunately, I usually don't get there in time, so now my teapot sort of looks like this:

Source unknown

When it should look like this:

Source unknown

BUT... oh mercy! thank goodness for free time (which, despite deadline depletion, really only happens when I ignore everything on my agenda), because I finally, finally, came up with the answer to the conundrum. That's right. Today, people, I set the timer on my stove (and I thought it was just for the oven!). And it worked. Gah.

Yes, now having a cup of tea does offer transcendence away from the mad and frantic world.