I was going to write some deep, introspective post about Chatsworth’s Veiled Vestal statue, probably throw in some references from C.S. Lewis’ Till We Have Faces, which is a retelling of the Psyche myth featured a veiled queen, and talk about the metaphorical veils we wear over our own psyches, or souls. I was going to talk about how the veils we wear hide our imperfections less than we think they do, and hide our authentic glory more than we realize.
But I’m feeling a little cranky, I’ve had a pug puppy gnawing on my shoes for the past twenty minutes, and frankly Alton Brown is yelling about marshmallows from my television. Which makes deep, introspective soul-searching posts a little impractical at the moment.
Also, the weather is completely miserable and I feel a bit like I have been beating my head against some invisible barrier separating me from any sign of spring for at least two weeks.
Which is also not conducive to deep thinking. Or being pleasant.
But I’m committed to posting about something tonight. Because my posts lately have dwindled down to LOST recaps and not much else.
So I think I will post about tea, instead.
My love of coffee is well-documented, but there is little in life more comforting than a nice, strong hot tea. There are also few things nastier than watery, bland, tepid tea. Unless perhaps it’s watery, bland, tepid coffee.
I’m fond of Yogi tea’s Kava blend, which is a bit pricey. But it’s completely delicious, strong and spicey, and leaves me feeling remarkably relaxed. My friend Leslie tells me that if you drink enough kava, you’ll hallucinate. So clearly, I haven’t been drinking enough. Yet.
I also really like Bigelow’s Constant Comment, an orange-spiced black tea.
Celestial Seasoning’s Lemon Zinger and Raspberry Zinger are also favorites. When I was little, I remember my grandma always kept Lemon Zinger and Red Zinger at her restaurant, for the “hippies” in town. She also kept rocky road ice cream in enormous cardboard tubs, which convinced my five-year-old self that Bob Seger was singing about Old Time Rocky Road from the flashing, bubbling jukebox in the corner.
There was a brief period a few years back when I was drinking so much chai, I figured if I died, my body would already be preserved with exotic spices. I am not nearly good enough at math to know whether you could drink an amount where the money you’d save in embalming would offset the cost of all those chai lattes.
Well, that was fairly random. So feel free to get random in the comments. If there’s something you’ve just been dying to share with someone else–anyone else, really–then go ahead and get it out of your system there.
Either that, or go grab a cup of tea.