I Drank Too Much Tea

Today is my first real day off since... May 4th. And that day wasn't actually free. Today is. Up until 7pm, I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. Lovely.


So the first thing I did was sleep. Both my flatmates are in France, so in the silence I slept. Then I woke up and made oatmeal French toast. Which I ate with a small cup of tea. Lover's Leap, one of my favorite blacks.


Then I put sorted dirty clothes, and started a load of laundry. Finally. Laundry's been waiting for a long, long time. And then I needed to write a letter. So, in true form, I made a pot of tea. Letter-writing goes with tea. I filled my little clay pot with bancha, a green tea, and sat down with my pen, stationery, and gaiwan. And drank that whole little pot of tea. And wrote a nice long letter to my friend.


Then got up and realized... whoops. I may have drunk too much tea. I'm a little jittery! I opened my computer to check my email, and discovered that I could barely type my password correctly. And I am typo-ing far more than usual. Sigh.


But I did put in a second load of laundry, and now both are drying. I washed a bunch more dishes. I should probably eat lunch. And I still need to wash my hair. I does feel good to do things that have been waiting to be done. It feels good to check items off my mental to-do list. It feels good to be in a quiet house. Jackhammers across the street don't undo the goodness. It feels good to know that this day is not only the day the Lord has made, but also a day for me to rest.


Isn't it strange that laundry counts as rest? Maybe this is part of growing up. Maybe having the time to sort laundry (I actually sorted warm and cold water wash! What?!), and then to write a leisurely letter, is a sign that I have time to rest. I think of Brother Lawrence, and how his work in the kitchen was prayer, was a sort of rest. Even work, when done like that, is refreshing. Even things that must be done can be rest-filled. How much is an attitude of the heart? How much is circumstance? How much is simply the refreshment of something different?


Welcome to my brain caffeinated. I end up a strange combination of jitters, let's-just-DO-things!, distraction, and ponderment. Part of me really wants to read. Part of me wants to do jumping jacks. Part of me wants to eat. Part of me... wants to DO something! Part of me wants to philosophize. And all of me is glad the day is mine.


What shall I do next?

May Rains Down

This is the weather for walking, solitary, through the dripping woods.

This is the weather for standing where the waves stop, searching grey mists for an elusive watery horizon.

This is the weather for pausing, imprinting the image of that bright robin amidst the brighter green in the memory.

This is the weather for waiting, eyes closed, on the porch, til the symphony of rain and dripping fills your ears, your head, your heart.

This is the weather for living.

This is the weather for sitting, curled, with hot tea and a book, reading a page, then staring out, then reading more.

This is the weather for humming, ballads and old hymns, quietly as soap and hot water clean dishes of the day's mess.

This is the weather for lying down, covered by pattering water-sounds, and praying those hopes and dreams that get buried by busyness.

This is the weather for pulling up a chair to the desk, paper lit by one lamp and one hazy window, to flow words from your heart to your mind to your pen. 

This is the weather for being.