Where Are The Iced Tea Pioneers?

A couple of things to share today with you my dearest blog-heads:

I try not to comment too much on the weather. It just seems far too pedestrian and cliche (translation = lame) to do so. Oh sure, I offer up the occasional post about the change of seasons or the frozen tundra which caused me to slip, fall and break precious bones. But a rampant diatribe on weather just isn't my usual thang. My usual attitude toward weather is one of general disregard. It's always there. It changes. It comes and goes. I try to be prepared for things like rainstorms and blizzards, but beyond that I have called a truce with weather.

An exception must be made today as the thermometer mercury hit a high of 98 degrees in the upper Midwest. It is hot and oh so humid around these parts. We are talking typical August weather in late May. What gives? I got the air conditioning fired up and house sealed up tighter than the sutures of Pamela Anderson's latest breast augmentation (Pam, if you are reading this, take no offense). What really troubles me about this unusual turn of weather is how quickly it moved from "so cold I can't take it" to "so hot I can't stand it." I crave balance. I desire not breaking out into an ugly sweaty mess as I walk into work and start my day. I want an end to all things sweatness related. Mother Nature, please consider keeping us at a temperate 76 degrees with sunshine and partial cloud cover and a gentle breeze thankyouverymuch.

Which brings me to my next topic. Iced Tea.

Love it. Do you love it? Huh? Do you? Do you?

I think iced tea, and tea in general, screams ritual so it goes without saying (but I'll say it anyway) that people have definite opinions about when, how and where they drink their tea. You can point to the East India company and likely thank those dirty, colonizing Brits for helping us see the value and enjoyment tea brings. The U.S. South certainly deserves some of the credit for carrying on the tea tradition albeit iced cold and refreshing. Now, some only drink tea in the summer. I don't trust these people. Their ability to so thoroughly compartmentalize their beverages frightens me greatly. I bet these people also alphabetize their DVDs and color code their sock drawer. I hope none of my blog-heads fall into this category. If so, please take no offense. You are lovely and wonderful and surely there is a special place in heaven for you and your kind.

For me, tea is a year round thing. Mr. Oz renewed my love of tea by making it a staple in our home. He has been known to whip up pitchers of the stuff and likes to add his own twists like pomegranate juice or berries. I say we need more versatile beverages like coffee and tea. You just don't hear about people grinding up some bean or plucking some leaves and steeping it in liquid to create a new beverage. This is ingenuity and creativity at its most basic and its most profound. I mean who does that? Imagine the trials before they got to the tea we know today? Imagine how much bitter, nasty, unconsumable, vial crap folks had to endure and, yet, they had a vision to carry on and persevere. Incredible.

I don't think we have that type of fortitude anymore. If it's out there, it's certainly not being recognized and touted as it should. We need more tea pioneers. We need more crazy people who steep things in boiling water and drink it down with gusto. There is a life metaphor in there somewhere, but I'm just too damn hot to figure it all out and wrap it a nice neat bow. Viva La Tea!

And, I bet you thought I was going to start in on the Teabag Movement, eh? Fooled ya.

Robert Frost is dead wrong.

This is Abysmal...and lately, well, I have been thinking that Robert Frost has it all wrong in Mending Wall.

There is something splendid about a wall.

Yes, yes, Robert (or shall I call you Bobby?) you are all apple orchard and your neighbor is all pine so you don't have any problems because trees don't move from one home to the other in the night. I GET THAT, believe me.

But Bobby....let me ask you this...how would you feel about a wall if your neighbor had say...about half a dozen kids and say....three dogs. How would you feel about a wall, Bobby, if you had to clean dog shit from your garden, your lawn furniture, and the side of your grill? How would you feel about a wall after finding chew toys in your rose bushes and dirty diapers (drug over by the dogs, no doubt) at the foot of your back porch steps? And the constant barking....Bobby, how would you feel about that?

How would you feel, Bobby, upon entering your back yard only to see the children scatter from your woods and smell the distinct odor of burning leaves? How would you feel about a wall if you found chips in your new siding from bb gun pellets? What about those tracks in your garden, the early morning dew brush of fur on your green beans? What about the bicycle track from one corner of your yard to the next? Surely, Bobby, a wall could prevent that?

And then, dear Bobby, how would you feel if you discovered that the neighbor's kids broke into another neighbor's house in the night and stole all of his beer from his garage? How would you feel about a wall if you discovered that those same kids got drunk and puked all over the alley next to where you planted your strawberries? Would you then, dear Bobby, desire a wall...a great big fence with glorious ivy or clematis clinging to it?

There is something that loves a wall, Bobby - ME.

Goodbye To My Spencer Bob

It is with a heavy heart that I type this post. Last week, after a 4 year struggle with random seizure attacks and painful arthritis, my kitty cat Spencer left us. It was very difficult to let him go, but as they say "it was for the best." Don't really quite understand what that means exactly, but think it has something to do with hoping he is pain-free and no longer plagued with sickness.

Spencer "Bob" was a wonderful cat companion. He came into my life when he was just a baby and I had first ventured out on my own after college. My big move as an independent, bread-winning adult and I found myself virtually all alone in a city I did not know. Back then, I was living in a crappy 1 bedroom apartment on the wrong side of the tracks, just barely making enough money to pay my rent, put gas in my car and buy groceries. Loneliness laid on my pillow like an unwelcome house guest. I needed a friend. I needed something to take care of and watch over and come home to at the end of each tough day. Spencer and I found each other. He was the handsomest little boy and I loved him dearly.

I will keep with me so many fond memories. When he was just a little guy, he loved to sneak into the bathtub and drink from the faucet. You see I had a constant drippy tap. Spencer would enter and a few minutes later emerge with a wet slick on top of his head, utterly pleased with himself. Like all cats, he enjoyed getting into boxes, playing with paper and general mischief. But, he never got into too much trouble. For many years, he was my shadow. Content to curl up in my lap or lie next to me, he would signal bedtime by bounding into the blankets and then would proceed to wait for me to join him. He loved to cuddle and would often scratch at the covers until I lifted them up to let him underneath. There he would find a warm spot and sleep away. Roommates would come and go, but Spence remained, ever loving and always near.

One sunny summer morning, I couldn't find Spence. After looking high and low, I noticed the screen on my second story living room window was missing. Peering out and down, I spotted my cat lying on the grass below. About 4 feet from him was the missing screen. My mind instantly went to replay a scene where my cat road the screen down 2 stories not unlike a surfboarder hanging ten on the ocean waves. Scolding him from up above, I yelled for him to "stay put" and ran to make sure he was o.k. Spence just looked at me with that cute, furry face and big eyes as if to say "what are you getting all upset about? I just wanted to get out for a while." He was fine if not a bit shell shocked.

In 2006, Spencer suffered a grand mal seizure. I rushed him to the emergency vet where they were able to stabilize him. Countless tests and medications, I.V.'s and trips back and forth to specialists . . . feeding tubes, online research, second opinions and more tests . . . through it all I never found out what caused the illness or why it clung to Spencer so strongly. There were several months where it looked like he might lose his battle. But, he hung on. We hung on. I had my buddy back, but he was never really the same as he once had been. The medications made him jittery, non-social and somewhat lethargic. He could no longer do the things and enjoy the life he previously had. Nonetheless, Spence and I had our time together and I continued to love him the best I could.

The past years saw many changes. We added some new faces into our tribe. Mr. Oz and his feline vixen, Sophie. Most recently Ozy the wonderpup has joined the clan. Through it all, Spencer remained a tough and constant presence. He stood guard and in his eyes I could, from time to time, see a flicker of the cat he once was. As time marched on, these times became fewer and further between. He moved less and grimaced more. Although he still loved to eat, he no longer wanted to leave his small room where I tried to keep him sequestered from the chaos of life and the mauling puppy.

As sad as it was for me to say good-bye, it was even harder to see him lose his zest for life. He had become a shell of himself and I couldn't allow it any longer. The burden was lifted and I made the decision to give him peace and dignity, to release him from his sadness. I stayed with him at the end and my eyes were the last eyes he saw as he drifted away. This gives me comfort. I hope he knew how much he was cherished and loved. I hope he knew how much he meant to me and how he made my life a better one, particularly in those early, lonely and trying years when it was just he and I in our grungy apartment.

Fittingly, the days following Spencer's passing were gloomy and filled with rain. I take solace in this as it seemed nature was mirroring my sadness and weeping a little bit along with me.

For those of you who love animals and have pets, you'll understand that they become a part of the family . . . an extension of unconditional love and a connection to the lifeforce of the universe that surrounds us. They are sweet and guileless, innocent and reliant upon you for their every need. They give us so much but it is our privilege to care and love them. It makes us less selfish, more attuned to others, more giving and infinitely happier. For this I am grateful. It was an honor to be Spencer's mommy. I will miss him. Always.

For those of you who never had a cat or dog or aren't big animal lovers, I hope someday you will know the joy pets can bring into your life. They truly are wonderful and good for the soul.

Good-bye Spency, my handsome boy, my furry baby. There will never be another cat like you in this world. May you rest in peace. Always.