Books Read In January 2022

 Eight titles for this month.

The Personal Librarian by Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray is the story of Belle da Costa Greene, J. P. Morgan's personal librarian. 

Dark Sacred Night is another Harry Bosch book by Michael Connelly.

Harvesting the Heart by Jodi Picoult is one of the few books of hers in my library that I have left to read. My enjoyment of her novels does seem to depend on the subject matter.

God Rest Ye, Royal Gentlemen is Rhys Bowen's latest in her Royal Spyness series. These are quick little reads. This one was my bedside book the last three weeks - a chapter or two each night before lights out.

Lady Bird is a biography of Mrs. Johnson by Jan Jarboe Russell. I admired the former first lady for her highway beautification efforts as much as anything and really didn't know, or remember, what she was like while first lady. This book covers her life from birth to death, but centers on her life as the wife of LBJ. It was totally fascinating to read and reminds me I should be reading more biographies.

Two Kinds of Truth and The Night Fire by Michael Connelly would be the last two Harry Bosch novels for me to enjoy if a new one hadn't come out. I'm going to miss these when I'm done with the series, but we have started watching the TV series based on the books.

A Place Called Freedom by Ken Follett begins in the coal mines of Scotland and follows the protaganist to the American colonies as a convict slave in the 1700's. I love history and Follett's books are a pleasure to read regardless of the time period. 

 

For the Love of Mountains

 

I remember when my brother Ron moved to Colorado and fell in love with the mountains and with Ruthie. (This was her Dad's cabin west of Denver.)

I did not have the same reaction the first time I was in the Rocky Mountains. I had a bad altitude headache the whole time I was there. It was winter. When I went back during the summer the elevation didn't bother me as much. 

Being in the Blue Ridge Mountains was an entirely different experience. I loved those mountains.

The same is true of the Santa Cantalina Mountains north of Tucson, AZ. 

I would happily go back to the Blue Ridge and/or the Santa Catalinas....to visit.

I am a plainswoman born and bred. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.

Gabriela Mistral, the first Latin-American woman to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature, expressed her view of mountains in a poem....

My Mountains

In mountains I grew up, 
three dozen peaks around me. 
I seem never, never, 
though I hear my steps departing, 
to have lost them, not in the day, 
not in the starlit night, 
and though in pools I see
myself with snowy hair, 
I never left them, they never left me
like a child forsaken. 

And though they might call me
runaway, deserter, 
I had them and I have them 
always, always. 
And their gaze follows me. 

Like Ribbons Made Of Snow

 

January does not seem like the right time of year for a poem about a waterfall, but January 1991 was when this poem appeared in Poetry magazine.

The photo is of Smith Falls located in Smith Falls State Park twelve miles northeast of Valentine, Nebraska on the south side of the Niobrara River.

I took this picture in July, 2006.

The poem is by one of my favorite poets.

The Waterfall By Mary Oliver

For all they said,
I could not see the waterfall
until I came and saw the water falling,
its lace legs and its womanly arms sheeting down,

while something howled like thunder,
over the rocks,
all day and all night –
unspooling

like ribbons made of snow,
or god’s white hair.
At any distance
it fell without a break or seam, and slowly, a simple

preponderance –
a fall of flowers – and truly it seemed
surprised by the unexpected kindness of the air and
light-hearted to be

flying at last.
Gravity is a fact everybody
knows about.
It is always underfoot,

like a summons,
gravel-backed and mossy,
in every beetled basin –
and imagination –

that striver,
that third eye –
can do a lot but
hardly everything. The white, scrolled

wings of the tumbling water
I never could have
imagined. And maybe there will be,
after all,

some slack and perfectly balanced
blind and rough peace, finally,
in the deep and green and utterly motionless pools after all that falling?

Where Is That Poem About Green Eyes?

Thanks to Google I can find almost any half-remembered poem or the lyrics of a song with just a few lines. But I've had no luck at all with these lines from a poem:

"I who was raised on river's silken sheen

Cannot remember exactly what color green

Your eyes are....."

That's all I've got, but searching poems and lyrics, as I have been, I get no returns; no matches; no hints.

Today I began wondering, trying to remember, was this a poem I began writing once upon a time and never got any further with than those lines? And if so, who was the poem about? 

An eye opening* article titled "The Truth About Green Eyes" says that only two percent of the world's population has green eyes. But according to an online survey they are the most attractive eye color. I know I used to wish I had green eyes - and auburn hair - most likely because of all the romance novels I read.

I suspect that if those lines are from a poem I began and never finished, they may have been about someone I had a crush on, though I don't remember anyone in particular who had green eyes. 

It could also have been about my two youngest children who have the kind of blue eyes that change color. Depending upon what they are wearing their eyes can also look green or grey.

Too illustrate: This picture of Kari from last summer, when she was wearing a green top - really brings out her green eyes.

My eyes have always been brown - well, at least they were. As I have aged they are more hazel. Maybe, at last,  I'm getting my wish for green eyes.

And maybe I should try to finish that poem.....

*Pun intended. The article about green eyes appeared online on The List.

Bet Little Brother Still Remembers This

My diaries didn't yield anything of significance for this date that I could make a blog post from so I checked my mother's 1973 diary. The first couple lines were: "Leslie didn't get up till noon. Didn't get in last night until 1:30." So what? He was nineteen years old (almost 20). Young men that age often stay out late.

Ah, but her entry for the day before, January 26, 1973, tells the tale: It begins "25°" Halfway down the page after recording what she and Dad had done: "PM - Went to Ron's about 6 O'clock. Went on to R Oak to meet bus. Leslie and Dan were not on it. They hitch hiked home from Maryville. They got a ride to Kansas City. Took bus to Maryville. Hitch hiked rest of way."

Les and Dan were freshmen at Central Missouri State University. (The name was changed to University of Central Missouri in 2006.) Apparently they were just coming home for the weekend. On Sunday Mom wrote, "Leslie drove his car back to College this P.M." His car was a 1961 Chevy as I recall.

I wonder what Mom thought when they met the bus in Red Oak and my brother and his friend weren't on it? There weren't cell phones in those days. She must have been worried. 

My little brother is now retired and the author of the Time Will Tell science fiction series. The release of the fifth and final book "Try, Try Again" is planned for February 17, his birthday.

I'm just thinking how miserable it must have been to be hitchhiking in January. Les and Dan could certainly have used some time traveling skills then. 

The Difference Between Wet and Dry

Once upon a time - nearly half of my lifetime ago - I began collecting old umbrellas - not to use, just to have. There was something about an umbrella that fascinated me and had since I was a child and spent part of my allowance (ten cents) for a paper umbrella at the five and dime.

The allure was probably in the way they sprung open, or, in the case of the paper ones, their colorful designs.

I never used the umbrellas in my collection but kept one of those compact folding ones in my car in case of rain.

Often the ones I collected were for their handles like this gorgeous amber one. 

This is the only umbrella I still have from my collection. The others went when we had our farm sale.

But this one, this one I kept because of its shape and handle. I harbored thoughts of replacing the fabric, making it useable again. Besides the handle, I loved its shape and size. 

I don't know if the color of this umbrella began as ombré or if it was once vibrant rose overall and faded.

But it must have been fabulous when it was new. And what about the woman who owned it? Didn't she feel marvelous under this parasol? I would have.

One woman wrote a poem about her umbrella....

 Umbrella By Connie Wanek

When I push your button

you fly off the handle,

old skin and bones,

black bat wing.

We're alike, you and I.

Both of us

resemble my mother,

so fierce in her advocacy

on behalf of

the most vulnerable child

who'll catch his death

in this tempest.

Such a headwind!

Sometimes it requires

all my strength

just to end a line.

But when the wind is at

my back, we're likely

to get carried away, and say

something we can never retract,

something saturated from the ribs

down, an old stony

word like ruin. You're what roof

I have, frail thing,

you're my argument

against the whole sky.

You're the fundamental difference

between wet and dry. 

"The Shortening Winter's Day"

 

I happened upon this painting, The Shortening Winter's Day, by Scottish painter Joseph Farquharson, a few days ago. It would have been perfect in December before the Solstice, but if I turn it around and think of it as The Lengthening Winter's Day, it is perfect for today, the 103rd anniversary of my mother's birth.

Because, as I've written before, it has long seemed to me the proverbial January Thaw often occurred around Mom's birthday. Unfortunately that's not happening today. It is 4° now with a forecast high for the day only 8°. But the days are lengthening as they always do by her birthday and soon it will be spring. 

I fell in love with this painting the moment I saw it, perhaps because it has been reproduced thousands of times on Christmas cards and in magazines, or just maybe, more likely, because it reminds me the small herd of sheep and lambs I had in the early 80's.

Mom told me that when they were first married she and Dad had a few sheep that they kept in the chicken house and pen. I don't think they had them very long. I think there was a story about not being able to keep them in - that they were always escaping and Dad got tired of chasing them down. At any rate, they were long gone and replaced by chickens by the time I was old enough to remember.

I had raised pigs on my own several different times before I got sheep. And why sheep? I think it was because I had a larger acreage. 

Anyway, lambing in the cold winter months and then caring for the ewes and lambs is an experience I will never forget - including the time the entire herd escaped. 

(The photo is of my first grandchild with some of the ewes and lambs behind him.)

Maybe I'm romanticizing the painting and my memories of that time in my life - or maybe both are as charming as I see them on this cold, but lengthening, winter day.

"Just Do It"

It's another one of those 'National' days - today is Just Do It Day. If that doesn't make you think of the shoe company then I hope it makes you remember Nike the Greek Goddess of speed, strength and victory. As I remember it she was the impetus for the naming of Nike, Inc.

I have been a procrastinator my whole life. I don't usually do things until I just have to. My daughter has encouraged me to make lists and experience the pleasure of crossing off the items as I complete them - in fact I think I have a note pad around here that is headed "Just Do It". But I am not a list maker though I am better about it now that my short term memory has deserted me. 

I once imagined just being involved with Bud, who was a dedicated runner, that I would magically become a runner, too.

It sort of worked - some. I would get up early every morning before work to go for a jog/walk - always trying for a mile. I might keep it up for three or four days before backsliding. Then start again and stop again ad infinitum.

Nike's Just Do It campaign launched in 1988. It was probably the early 90's when I bought my Nike tee with their swish logo and the slogan imprinted on it. This photo was taken at, I believe, one of the races sponsored by KMA Radio in Shenandoah. Bud would do a 5K or 10K and I would do my best to jog a couple of miles.

There have been a couple of instances since retirement that I have able to Just Do It - when we joined the Y and went every morning and then when we got our Nordic poles.

I believe it was in 1979 when Bud first began running every day.

This photo is from a few years ago when he was completing his 10,000th mile. 

In 1988 the first Just Do It Nike commercial was made featuring 80-year old Walt Stack who ran 62,000 miles in his life.

This picture of Bud was taken last August as he completed 15,000 miles of running and walking. He 'just' walks now, but his walking speed is faster than almost anyone else.

Walt Stack is quoted to have admonished: "Start slow .... and taper off." That sounds much more like my attitude. I'm very good at being slow and then stopping, but when it really necessary, I can still Just Do It. 😉

Advice To A Girl

 

Advice To A Girl (By Sara Teasdale)

No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.

So true.

Go Back To 22 For 2022

 

Earlier this month I saw one of those suggestions on Facebook: "What was the #1 song on your 22nd birthday? That is how 2022 will play out for you." So here I was around the time I was 22. Now what was the #1 song that day?

I Hear A Symphony by The Supremes. ♪I hear a symphony, a tender melody....♪ Well, if 2022 is a symphony it'll be a nice change!

I also looked at #1 in the UK - Get Off Of  My Cloud by The Rolling Stones. And #1 R&B - Rescue Me by Fontella Bass - probably more likely the way Covid-19 keeps mutating.

The #1 Country hit on my 22nd birthday was Little Jimmy Dickens' May the Bird of Paradise Fly Up Your Nose. 

Yikes!! Sounds like 2022 may be another year of ups and downs - but then every year is, isn't it?

On Bud's 22nd birthday the #1 song was Incense and Peppermints by Strawberry Alarm Clock. ♪ "Who cares what games we choose, little to win, but nothing to lose." ♪

For my eldest, Douglas, the #1 hit on his 22nd birthday was Ghostbusters by Ray Parker Jr. ♪ Who you gonna call? ♪ 

The #1 song on daughter Kari's 22nd birthday was I Don't Want To Cry by Mariah Carey. ♪ I don't want to cry, nothing in the world could take us back to where we used to be. ♪ 

For my youngest son, Preston, the #1 tune on his 22nd birthday was UB40's (I Can't Help) Falling In Love With You. ♪ Wise men say only fools rush in. ♪ I don't remember the UB40 version but I sure remember when Elvis made it a hit!

What was the #1 song on your 22nd birthday? And will it really predict how 2022 will play out for you?

Naming Winter Storms

 It used to be only hurricanes that were named, now any significant storm gets a name. Last week Izzy swept through bringing snow, blowing snow and cold temperatures.

Today The Weather Channel has been hyping Winter Storm Jasper which is going to cause problems in the south from Texas all the way up the east coast with cold temperatures, snow and ice.

As soon as I heard the name Jasper I thought of the school, Jasper #2 where I attended grades one through eight. Then I wondered who our township was named for and pretty much have drawn a blank.

The Adams County History Book talks about most of the other townships, how and why they were named, but for Jasper it only mentions the town of Brooks which is in Jasper Township.

According to the history book, in 1853 early settlers in the area where Brooks is now located felt they had found the "promised land" and named their settlement Canaan City. In 1854 the name was changed to Brookville. There was already a Brookville in Jefferson County so the post office name was changed in 1860 to Simpson after the seminary that was founded there by the Methodist Church. But the railroad was still shipping to the name Brookville. After the seminary was moved to Indianola (and became Simpson College), the post office and depot both took the name of Brooks in 1871. And Brooks it remains.

But what about Jasper? There is a gemstone called jasper but it isn't found in Jasper Township.

There are a few towns named Jasper in the eastern states. Perhaps someone from one of those towns settled in Adams County and named the township after their hometown?

In baby naming Jasper means keeper of the treasure or jewel. So going back to those original settlers who felt they had found the promised land, by extension possibly they named the township Jasper because it was a treasure? It was certainly a jewel of a place for me to grow up so I'm content to go with that explanation. I'll probably never know how/why/for whom the township was named.

K. The next winter storm begins with K. Kane? Kobe? Kier? Klint? Keefer? 

A More Modern Love Poem

 

Love Poem By Melissa Balmain

The afternoon we left our first apartment,

We scrubbed it down from ceiling to parquet.

Who knew the place could smell like lemon muffins?

It suddenly seemed nuts to move away.

(I've lived in seven apartments in my life. I was always happy to leave them behind in exchange for a house, especially those homes in the country.)

The morning someone bought our station wagon,

it gleamed with wax and every piston purred.

The car looked like a centerfold in Hot Rod!

Too late, we saw that selling was absurd.

(So many times I've wished that I had kept my little Ford Escort station wagon!)

And then there was the freshly tuned piano

We passed along to neighbors with a wince.

We told ourselves we'd find one even better;

instead we've missed its timbre ever since.

(I never had a piano but I do regret not keeping my collection of vinyl records.)

So if, God help us, we are ever tempted

to ditch our marriage when it's lost its glow,

let's give the thing our finest spit and polish--

and, having learned our lessen, not let it go.

(Long marriages may lose some of their glow - but take on a warm patina.)

Ten Degrees and Getting Colder

 He was standing by the highway 

With a sign that just said Mother 

When he heard a driver coming 

About a half a mile away

So he held the sign up higher 

Where no decent soul could miss it 

It was ten degrees or colder 

Down by Boulder Dam that day

He was raised up in Milwaukee

Though he never was that famous

He was just a road musician

To the taverns he would go

Singing songs about the ramblin'

The lovin' girls and gamblin'

How the world fell on his shoulders

Back in Boulder I don't know

Now he's traded off his Martin

Though his troubles ain't over

His feet are almost frozen and the sun is sinking low

Won't you listen to me brother, if you ever loved your mother

Please pull off on the shoulder, if you're goin' Milwaukee way

It's ten degrees and getting colder down by Boulder Dam today

The first time I heard this song was when my daughter gave me a cassette copy of Nanci Griffith's album Other Voices, Other Rooms which was released in 1993.

The first time I heard this song I cried. It made me think of my son Douglas who used to hitchhike to come see me when he was in his late teens. By then hitchhiking had been labeled as a risky thing to do and it scared me that Doug would take chances. It also worried me that he wouldn't get a ride when the weather was so cold. (As it is today!)

This song also reminds me of the time I, with my three children, was driving down the interstate on our way to my parents' farm for the weekend. We passed a young man with his thumb out. I hesitated and in a matter of seconds decided to stop for him. He was so grateful because he was trying to get to Kansas City for his grandmother's funeral. I apologized because we would only be going ten or fifteen miles before we'd have to let him out when we exited toward the farm. 

Even though the weather wasn't bad, even though it was only a few miles, I felt good about picking up the hitchhiker - his mother was waiting for him to get home that day. 

If you ever loved your mother, please pull off on the shoulder.

Blue Moon

 

The Full Wolf Moon as it was setting this morning.

The moon wasn't blue, but the sky and clouds were.

Many artists have recorded Blue Moon. My favorite was probably Dean Martin with his mellow, crooner style.

In 1961, the year I graduated highschool, a doo-wop group, The Marcels, turned Blue Moon into a rock and roll hit.

While I liked their version and cranked up the radio when it came on, I still preferred Blue Moon as a ballad.

Blue Moon

Blue moon you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own.

Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I could really care for.

And then there suddenly appeared before me

The only one my arms will hold.

I heard somebody whisper, "Please adore me"

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold!

Blue Moon!

Now I'm no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own.

This is a picture I took of the Full Wolf Moon as it rose last night in what I call a clabbered sky. 

It does look like a blue moon. 

It also kind of reminds me of an opal.

This blue moon might have seen me standing alone in the cold and wondered just what I was there for!

Already the Days Lengthen

 

Sunset at 4:58 p.m. on the Winter Solstice 12-21-21 - the shortest day of the year.

Sunset four weeks after the Winter Solstice - 5:25 p.m. Already the days are noticeably longer. How I welcome the return of light.

To Know The Dark (By Wendell Berry)

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,

and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,

and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

Something Of A Winter Wonderland

Friday into Saturday's snow turned our world into a winter wonderland. It began here as rain on Friday which didn't change over to snow until Friday evening. 

This is what it has looked like all weekend - very beautiful.

Saturday morning the front door wouldn't even open because of the drifts.

I opened the garage door to the patio and saw more snow on the deck than we've seen in quite awhile. It was because the wind stayed from the east-northeast.

Earlier this afternoon I took this photo of bands of blue sky as well as what almost looked like smoke wafting along. I thought it was probably snow blowing off the trees, but I don't know for sure what it was.

Bud cleared off the deck and filled the pan we keep out there with bird seed. At one time I counted almost 40 little birds eating - mostly finches and snow birds with a few sparrows.

This little Downy Woodpecker was just one of those working on the frozen suet. Others were a Hairy Woodpecker, some Bluejays and a Red-bellied Woodpecker. 

About an hour ago I looked out and saw this on the back side of the pond dam.

At first I couldn't tell what it was.

Then she raised her head and looked around.

It was obvious she was trying to dig something out from under the snow.

She would get ahold of it and tug and tug.

It looked as though she was finally going to get what she was after.

But then this big guy came running toward her and chased her away. I wouldn't be surprised if she comes back later.

This is the first fox I've seen in awhile. She looks healthy. I was just lucky to look out the window at the right time.

It may look like a winter wonderland out there, I'm just grateful I don't have to be out in it.

The days are already growing longer - I'll be glad for Spring and warmer temps just as I am every year.

Years Before There Was a Blog

I have posted so many poems it is hard to believe I have never used this one - one of my very favorites. I found the copy I had printed off and saved in 2006.

The Song of Wandering Aengus (By William Butler Yeats)

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire aflame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

After Robert James Waller became famous for writing "The Bridges of Madison County" he recorded "The Ballads of Madison County". 

Some of the pieces on it are sung and some are spoken. "Golden Apples of the Sun" is Waller reciting Yeats' poem.

 For me, it is a beautifully haunting rendition and every time I read the poem, in my head I am hearing Waller's voice.

And there is a photo that comes to mind when I read/hear the line "with apple blossom in her hair" - this one of my Mom and two of her great-granddaughters, Alyssa on the left and Katrina on the right - all three with crab apple blossoms in their hair.

Special poem, cassette tape, photo and memories.....

The Reading Woman

I have been the recipient of two different boxes of greeting cards from Pomegranate Communications. Each contained twelve cards, three each of four different artworks and blank inside for me to use as I needed, i.e. greeting cards, note cards, etc. If I remember correctly one box was from my friend Kristina and the other from my daugher Kari. 

I enjoy looking at art almost as much as reading poems. One of the cards I especially liked was this one

because it made me think of me reading to a young Kari.

It is Alice in Wonderland by George Dunlop Leslie (1835-1921).

Possibly titled The Sleepless Reader  (need to research the artist).

Reading by Alberto Pisa (1864-1931)

Woman Reading - Ricardo Lopez Cabrera (1864-1950).

This is perhaps my favorite of this lot. This woman reading seems so caught up in her book, so rapt - captivated by what she is reading.

I doubt she has any idea what is going on around her. I know that feeling. It happens often when I am enthralled in an adventure.

Lastly, another George Dunlop Leslie painting - Her Favorite Pastime. 

As it is mine. 

Celebrating The Poet Inside All Of Us

 It's another one of those 'national' days - this one I wasn't aware of but can certainly celebrate - it is Poetry Break Day - a day created "as an appreciation of poetry".

It is a day to write a poem, read poems by your favorite poets and "to celebrate the poet inside all of us". 

I already read poems every day. And we know, much as wish I could write poetry, my attempts at doing so are pretty lame. I kept a 'Poetry Notebook' as a teenager, copying favorite poems in it. Now I do much the same thing by copying poems I like here, in my blogspot. This is one that was in that notebook but not previously shared to my blogspot:

She Walks in Beauty

BY LORD BYRON (GEORGE GORDON)

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

(Painting "Moonlight" by Alfred Emile Leopold Stevens)

Celebrating National Hot Tea Month and Day

 

Today is National Hot Tea Day - and all of January is National Hot Tea Month. I don't need a reason to enjoy a cup of hot tea, I drink it every day for lunch.

Each fall I purchase a box of 100 tea bags of Ahmad Aromatic Earl Grey and one of Ahmad English # 1. These are my favorite teas and have been for many years. I usually alternate these two teas but once in awhile, like if I feel a cold coming on, I'll have a cup of Chai.

This year I also ordered a half dozen boxes of Bigelow's Salted Caramel tea for those times when I want a little sweetness.

And I usually have Keebler's Sandies Pecan Shortbread on hand for 'dessert'. 

There is also Bigelow's decaffinated Earl Grey in the cupboard for the rare times I want a cup of hot tea in the evening.

"There is a great deal of poetry and fine sentiment in a chest of tea." (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

This quote was printed on one of the dividers between the rows of  one hundred tea bags.

At one time tea was such a valuable commodity that it was kept in locked tea chests. That got me wondering if this old box Mom used first as a hanky box and later as a recipe box was ever used as a tea chest. I don't know if it was something handed down in the family, but it does have a lock.

I just use one of my heavy coffee mugs as a tea mug every day but because it is National Hot Tea Day I will use this pretty china cup today to celebrate. 

It is only left to decide which tea will be in the cup, but I'm thinking Ahmad Tea # 1.