I JUST HAD MY FIRST CUP OF REAL TEA IN A LONG TIME.

Don't get me wrong. I drink tea like most people drink coffee. My pot is even programmed to have it ready for me when I crawl out of bed in the morning. 

But anyone who truly loves tea knows there is a tremendous difference between the basic, serviceable grocery store offering and the fresh, loose, black gold found in tea shops.

I ordered several varieties from English Tea Store. Their link is found at the side bar under Comforts Let's Talk Tea.

I had to pull out all the requisite tea making paraphernalia that had been languishing in the cupboard. It took more time and effort than my automatic teapot. But it was well worth it when I curled up in my leather reading chair with an heirloom china cup full of strong, smooth brew and a good book.

I was transported to another world.

Well, maybe more like another city.

I was lucky enough to have some nice quite time to read and, trust me, that doesn't happen very often around here. 

Now, I have to admit to a guilty pleasure - Castle. I enjoyed Nathan Fillion in Firefly and Serenity, so when he showed up with a new show I had to watch it. And I love it. His character is a mystery writer and he has published two novels that he "wrote." I just read them both. 

Not too bad, and fun. I heard the voices and inflections of the actors as I read them. In this case it was a good thing. And when you have a tie in with characters that you enjoy it heightens the pleasure.

The big question is who actually wrote the books. Is the ghost writer one (or more) of the show's writers? Is it one of the best selling novelists who have graced the cameo list as Castle's poker buddys?

Stephen J. Cannell (in purple shirt in photo), fictional mystery novelist Richard Castle (Nathan Fillion, in photo at right), Michael Connelly and James Patterson.

 

Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks

    by Jane Kenyon

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . .

When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me. . . .

I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . .

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden. . . .

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge. . . .

I am the heart contracted by joy. . .
the longest hair, white
before the rest. . . .

I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow. . . .

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name. . . .

from: The Boat of Quiet Hours. Copyright 1986.

AFTER MY OWN HEART

 THE ROSE IN WINTER

A book club blog,

launched by Freddie de Boer.

The subject is Umberto Eco's 1980 novel In The Name Of The Rose.

Freddie is hoping to have participants start reading
on December 7th.

  

"Winter is a season for reading, for turning inwards, into interior warmth. I mean this in the simplest sense and less speakable ones as well. It's cold out, in winter, and to curl up with a book in the light of a fire in your own hearth is wonderful. Internally, too, it's often necessary to turn inward to artificial heat and light. And the best reading for those times, I think, is reading that is intricate and varied and rewarding and, yes, labyrinthine. The Name of the Rose is a book that you can retreat into, deep for a deep winter."

"Books are not made to be believed,

but to be subjected to inquiry."

AND THE BEAT GOES ON . . .

What? 

You have not heard that a thousand times.

The Changing Light     
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The changing light
                 at San Francisco
       is none of your East Coast light
                none of your
                            pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
                        is a sea light
                                       an island light
And the light of fog
                   blanketing the hills
          drifting in at night
                      through the Golden Gate
                                       to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
       after the fog burns off
            and the sun paints white houses
                                    with the sea light of Greece
                 with sharp clean shadows  
                       making the town look like
                                it had just been painted

But the wind comes up at four o'clock
                                     sweeping the hills

And then the veil of light of early evening

And then another scrim
                  when the new night fog
                                        floats in
And in that vale of light
                      the city drifts
                                    anchorless upon the ocean

from: How to Paint Sunlight. Copyright © 2000.

In 1994, San Francisco renamed a street in his honor. He was also named the first Poet Laureate of San Francisco in 1998. In 2000, he received the lifetime achievement award from the National Book Critics Circle. Currently, Ferlinghetti writes a weekly column for the San Francisco Chronicle. He also continues to operate the City Lights bookstore, and he travels frequently to participate in literary conferences and poetry readings. - Poets . org.

SOME BREATHTAKING PHOTOGRAPHY

from NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC'S ANNUAL CONTEST, 

hosted by THE BIG PICTURE.

As usual, click on the image to embiggen.

A Wrinkle in Time. 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. 

(Photo and caption by Nikki Krecicki)

Pure Elements. 

I drove my 4x4 over rivers to get a view of the Volcano eruption at "Fimmvorduhals" in Iceland. It was a full moon and strong winds gave me problems standing still outside the truck. I had my camera with me and zoom lens but no tripod, suddenly there was a magical moment, I was experiencing a display of nature rarely seen by man. I found my camera with the zoom lens, rushed out of the truck, trying to fight the strong wind. I pushed the camera on to the hood of the truck trying to stand still, holding my breath, I shot 30 frames, and only one shot was good. 

(Photo and caption by Olafur Ragnarsson)

Archaic Torso of Apollo

- Rilke

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,
gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.
Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur:
would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

WORLD AIDS DAY

Rates of new HIV infections are slowing, but what now?

. . . putting human rights approaches at the centre of the response is crucial to further progress.

“Prioritizing the rights people need to avoid exposure to infection, enabling people living with HIV to live with respect and dignity and protecting the rights of those who are marginalized or vulnerable is really what we're talking about when we mention human rights approaches,” says Allyson Leacock, chair of the World AIDS Campaign's Global Steering Committee, “raising rights awareness among key populations – such as women, youth, people who use drugs – is essential to the future of the HIV response.”

QUOTE FOR THE DAY

"A little patience, and we shall see the reign of witches pass over, their spells dissolve, and the people, recovering their true sight, restore their government to its true principles. It is true that in the meantime we are suffering deeply in spirit, and incurring the horrors of a war and long oppressions of enormous public debt. If the game runs sometimes against us at home we must have patience till luck turns, and then we shall have an opportunity of winning back the principles we have lost, for this is a game where principles are at stake," 

- Thomas Jefferson, in a letter to John Taylor, June 4, 1798.