Author: Dre

We live in the “second meth capital” of California, which you might think would be a source of embarrassment for me.  I mean, if our neighbors just work a little harder we could be first, right?

And while there was a time that I considered renting a post office box in another town, just so I wouldn’t have to admit I lived here when giving out my address, I’ve come to embrace my community. 

After all, what better ego boost than to always be the best looking person at your local corner store, just by having all your teeth?  That, and my adult acne is nothing compared to the faces of meth.

Today I ran up to the store to pick up a couple of burritos (shut up, convenience store burritos are das bomb) and stood in line behind a woman who was very obviously a “tweaker”.  I’m not totally schooled on the proper definitions of meth slang, (check with The Bloggess  for that) but to me a tweaker is a meth addict who twitches non-stop.  You’re welcome. 

Anyway, I stood behind this lady as she tried to pour herself a fountain soda.  And if you’ve never seen a tweaker pour herself a fountain soda, you’re really missing out on life.  After spilling her drink several times, she turned around and flashed her gums at me in apology. 

My reply?  “It’s OK, I don’t mind waiting.”

In the end, she swapped out her 16 ounce cup for a 32 ounce, then filled it half full of a mixture of Pepsi, Dr. Pepper and Wild Cherry Pepsi.  She then spent a full 2 minutes pressing and creasing the lid onto the top of the cup, “to prevent spills” she said.  And then, on the way to pay, she dropped it mid-twitch. 

Being the kind hearted, thoughtful person I am, I got her a new one.  There’s nothing like a little neighborly love, even in the Second Meth Capital.

There is a knot in my stomach and it won’t go away.  Something is afoot. 

I fill my cup with steaming hot water and open the pantry to choose my tea.  The pantry is tidy, I have chosen my teas wisely and kept them organized.  I peruse the flavors – black, white, green, herbal, fruit infused, peppermint, decaf, caf, plain old Lipton.  Tea from China, tea from England, tea from South America.  Some have shiny wrappers and promise to do amazing things for my health.  Others are old and dusty, all the way at the back.  Still others are believed to contain traces of toxins, but the memory of their delicious flavor keeps them out of the trash.

It’s been a rough day so far, so I choose one of my favorites.  Its flavor is consistent and strong.

I dip the teabag and watch as the tea mixes with the hot water, making swirls and creating something soothing for me to drink.  I marvel at how relationships are a lot like teabags – you never know their true worth until they’ve been put through hot water.

Throughout the day, I need cup after cup of tea.  I line up the cups, amazed that just one teabag made almost every one.  It is even stronger than I ever imagined.  I am soothed, and grateful.

As I pass the pantry, a dusty teabag leaps from the shelf and into my hand.  I place it in the next cup of hot water, and it makes a beautiful cup of tea, full of nostalgic aroma.  I weep for having left it neglected for so long.

The day is hard, but my cups of tea see me through.  They ease the worry and the pain, and help me to see that tomorrow will be another day.  A fairly new and as-yet unopened package of tea falls to the floor at my feet, and as I put ot away in the pantry – sure it is not ready to be a cup of tea today, of all days – it gently places itself in my cup.  Again, tears fall as I drink the strong and stable tea.

My husband and I lay in the darkness, comparing the cups of tea we have consumed.  We don’t know what the days ahead will bring, but we find comfort in the fact that we are doing what is right for the one we love, whose life is spiraling out of control.

The sun shines through the window.  It’s a new day, the knot in its secure place in my stomach.  I walk into my office to find many cups of tea waiting for me, the bags having taken it upon themselves to come in from the pantry.  I smile, knowing I am loved, and hope the tea I make for others is even half as good.

I sit, and drink my tea.

So you know all that stress I’ve been carrying around?

Apparently there’s a cure for that, and it’s called WINE.  Sending the eldest child for a sleep over at a friend’s house goes nicely with it, as does putting the baby to bed early and catching up on my blog reading followed by a movie staring either Adam Sandler or Steve Carell.

I’ve been so cranky this past week that there’s a divot between my eyes, and I’m not sure it’s planning any vacations.  But I am!  My sister, my two favorite cousins and I are going to CABO SAN LUCAS in May to celebrate somebody’s 40th birthday.  I can almost smell the salt air, feel the warm sunshine, taste the pina colada.  Somebody wipe the drool off of my chin, won’t you please?

Here are some random funnies overheard this week:

Alison to her Dad, fresh from the shower:  “I don’t think I’ve seen your feet before.  They’re ugly without socks.”

Blythe, as she hands me my Starbucks Vanilla Frappuccino:  “Here you Ba-ba, Mama.  Pease.  Tane choo.  You welcome.”

Me, to the puppies, as I pooper-scoop: “Don’t step in the poop!  Don’t roll in the poop!  Don’t eat the poop!  Don’t play with the poop!  AAAKKK!”

Alison to me: “When I grow up, I want to be just like Ma’Maw, except I don’t want golden teeth.  Or yellow teeth.  Just white ones.”

Me, to one of our real estate agents, as he holds a chair out for me: “Tane-choo!” 

Me, to myself after the above: “Oh shit, I sound like a total idiot.”