Drink a cup of tea at 5 PM EST on April 24th















The Logistics: Amelia's First Tea Party















I remembered to do this at the right time! That in and of itself felt like an accomplishment, being that this moment occurs right in the middle of the afternoon, 2:00 PM PST. Amelia, my 18 month old daughter, was already up from her nap, so I suggested to her that we have a tea party. She understood enough to get a cup from her cabinet (the one cabinet in the kitchen that's not baby-proofed) and present it to me. But though she loves to drink from Mommy's ba-ba, I didn't think that hot green tea would be quite the thing. Instead I found a juice box--razzleberry, quite a treat as we usually don't give her sweet juice. I told her that we'd have our tea outside, so we headed in that direction. On first attempt, I spilled some of the tea from the wonderful little pot Mare had sent; the wire handle was rather unsturdy. I filled it again and this time we made it outside. Amelia waited eagerly for me to fill her cup, all the while pointing to my pot of tea. "It's hot," I exclaimed.















"It's chot," she repeated, though not quite convinced. Once I poured a bit of juice in her cup and handed it to her she was quite excited. Usually I insist on holding the cup while she drinks, but this time I let her do it alone. She took one big sip and much of the juice promptly poured down the front of the new brightly colored flowered short overalls she was wearing.















"Can Mommy help you?" Actually she didn't seem too interested in her juice, but pointed to my tea pot. "It's hot," I reminded her.















I quickly went inside and got a big bib with a velcro fastener that I could quickly put over her outfit. Then I held up the cup and let her sip a bit with my help. She didn't seem particularly interested in this kind of juice. I let her hold the cup again. Splat, most of it seemed to end up on her bib or the bit of shorts showing underneath. Was it that she couldn't control the cup, or was this a new game? She got up and started dancing in the puddle left on the patio from the first time she'd spilled her juice. We'd rushed outside with only socks, not shoes.















I asked her to get out of the puddle a couple of times, while I watched, drinking my tea.















Reflections







The night before I was reading a student's portfolio. It included many references to reflective moments, tea and intimate conversations with friends. Sitting alone with tea, watching the world. As I read, I wistfully imagined such times. At least I would drink a cup of tea tomorrow at precisely 2:00 PM and contemplate the experience.















What would other people be doing while drinking their cups of tea? Could such an activity actually create a sense of community? I'd been thinking a lot about community lately. Teaching in the distance learning MFA program at Goddard College, this was a frequent topic of discussion. One student whose portfolio I had just been reading, earnestly evaluated how she could create communion in her work. Another was particularly concerned with creating an "active community" with her on-line readers. Just how do we create communion or community? How would my experience be informed by knowing that others were going to be doing the same thing at the same time? Would I read of other's responses later? Could we create a virtual community through time and space? I had imagined reflecting on all of these issues while I drank tea, but mostly I thought of Henry's death.















Amelia woke up from her nap early, coughing from a new cold as is so often the case these days. So much for getting much work done on Goddard packets. After she woke up I thought that I could at least steal a glance at email with her sitting on my lap. "Wee," we could go around in my chair while the new messages downloaded. I had to go quickly before she insisted on grabbing the mouse. But the first subject heading I saw was about Henry's death. I was so surprised and of course picked this message to open. From everything I heard he was getting better, had recovered from pneumonia and was removed from intensive care.















Henry was an old Buddhist friend from the Bay Area. I hadn't seen him in maybe fifteen years, but I remember meeting him at many practice programs. He was always heavy, but he couldn't have been so much older than I. Maybe mid-fifties at best. And now he was dead--massive heart attack. Henry was always so sweet and friendly. I could feel his loneliness. There were moments when I felt that he was a bit cloying, or was it just that I didn't want to get too close. But he was a good, gentle soul. Now he was gone.















When I first heard of his sudden illness and hospitalization three weeks ago via email, I had sent a note. The writer, someone I didn't know, had said that Henry was conscious, in generally good spirits and would like to hear from old friends. I wrote and told him a bit about my life since our last meeting--that I was married and had a kid. I wished him a speedy recovery. I may have even said that I hoped or wondered if he'd remember me. Writing an email was the least I could do. The sender of the message informing all about Henry's fate, had said that he would collect the emails and read them to Henry. I appreciated the ability to respond instantly. It would've been even nicer to send a card, but who knows how long it would've taken me to get that off in the mail.















When I read the message that Henry died, it also said that his life had changed in the last three weeks. The sender wrote, "I read him the emails and he enjoyed each and every one of them. I can still hear him murmur as he heard each person's name from the emails. He told me that the 100+ emails were life-changing & being able to hear all the love and kindness from the sangha. He hadn't felt that before and it changed his outlook in a major way. I was so fortunate to be a conduit for all the love, memories and wishes sent to Henry."















Thank goodness I had sent that email. Several testimonials accompanied the message of Henry's death. One of them even suggested that we could conduct an on-line sukavati (Buddhist funeral service). "Henry would've liked that," he said.