I drink a lot of tea.

Like, a lot.

Several cups a day, usually green, never with sugar, preferably with some kind of fruit flavor.

One of my favorite gifts from a few years ago was a wooden tea organizer box.  Since I only ever bought tea that I liked, opening it meant I would always have a cup I enjoyed. 

I used to have a ritual for each cup – specific time in the microwave or boiling on the stove, specific time for brewing, and specific amount of sugar. 

Now, it’s about an unspecified wait until the water boils and then a vague amount of time to brew.  Usually longer than most people – I like a strong cup of tea. 

And it has become a kind of calming crutch – it’s hard to drink tea angrily. 

For this past Christmas, Jim got me an advent box of different kinds of teas. Plenty of green, but a mix of different types and flavors.  Even with my tea habit, I fell behind with each day having two tea bags and me not always being in the mood for something experimental. 

I saved all the ones I hadn’t tried before Christmas and have been trying more exotic flavors.  And…I’m apparently picky with my tea. 

I don’t like rooibos.  Or chai.  Or, forgive me Jean-Luc Picard, Earl Gray.  Even if served hot. 

I’ve made a valiant effort, but they just taste like different types of shoes.   Weird, I know.

So, I’ve made a pile for Jim to try and I’m keeping an eye out for more teas to try – and to refill my tea box 

And with each cup, I breathe in the steam and savor – for just a moment – a little bit of calm and a little bit of peace.