A friend reminded me a couple weeks ago about Teacup Theology. That's when you look at the cup of unknown tea you've been handed by your generous host and you decide if you're going to take a sip and savor it and let it do you the good you're intended or if you're going to dump it out and brew your own pot with your own leaves at your own strength. Okay, at it's essence, it's sort of pithy. I'm simple folk these days and needing simple truths; it's giving me pause. I've got a cup of tea that is brimming with tropical goodness: warm afternoons by the pool, long jungle runs, and blooming frangipani. This cup lets me work and travel and be a mama. This cup is filled with really great places and really great people. That's how I know I'm a little off kilter and that this too shall pass, as I'm sniffing the cup and dreaming of something with a bit more autumnal depth: spices and fall colors and hearty root vegetable soups. I'm ignoring that the second pot also comes with wintery burdens that even farmers' market pumpkins can't outweigh.
I've adjusted to an international move three times now, so I know that the awkward month comes. I'm in it. I'm missing the ladies in Prague that taught me to be a mother and loved my boy. I'm missing friends on other continents who used to be here. And I'm knowing that my sister is in her favorite season of all, marbling paper and knitting mittens and probably baking something outrageously good (of course, as I write this, she is hunkered down with extra gasoline and chocolate for what could be some scary days, thanks to nasty Sandy). October is the month for tea with neighbors, and I'm just not feeling it here.
I've been writing Neighbor B long emails and skyping with tough-as-nails LM. I've been making weepy lists of art projects that will just have to wait until holidays. I've been dreaming of learning this, and envying the talented gal that does this. When you're in the awkward month is seems that everyone and everything is being creative and productive and spinning all the plates in the most beautiful ways. And you're just a lady that hasn't even made time to get waxed. And that's a necessity when you're living a tropical cup of tea.
So. What do we do? We come home and take a nap. Because that's one of the perks of this tropical living. And we eat the best bowl of char siew soup anyone could hope for and marvel that our son is learning to use chopsticks. We laugh when he thanks us in Chinese and then clarifies, "That's Mandarin, mom". We read a lot of young adult novels, we dream of afternoons filled with drawing, and we take long walks amongst the mango and banana trees rather than the falling maple leaves. We're back from an island vacation and only four sleeps away from an adventure racing weekend with three outrageous ladies. It's okay. It's more than okay. It's just awkward October, and this too shall pass.
Usual awkward segue:
And because it really is okay, and I can't stay all that reflective for all that long, we're also relishing a delivery of a great tea chaser. Who says beer is expensive in Singapore? You just have to go to the source. And my source has Aventinus.
And while the birthday girl that got this art doesn't partake in the Aventinus herself, she's another great reason to make it through the October melancholy. Living on the same island as Betsy for the second time is a dream come true. She keeps me laughing, thinking, reading, and drinking the occasional Pokka green tea. So happy to get to wish you a happy birthday in person this year, Betsy H.
