The Little Man Must Go On

Live accord­ing to the sea­sons
In the town where I was born
Things have got­ta have a rea­son
The sun don’t come before the dawn

(Thanks again, Antje.)

How did I lose anoth­er week? Another week of that snow smell and gui­tar lessons and Nordique red­heads I nev­er asked out again. Lost to the trap­pings of life. So much has hap­pened, and yet noth­ing has changed, though things will be dif­fer­ent soon enough. And while I wish I could say that I had more to say about it all, I don’t.

teas in spoons
tea served

Over some ancient moon­light white tea, Heather G asked how my belief in Taoism was going. It made me real­ize I had­n’t thought about it in a while, which is exact­ly the point. I’ve been try­ing not to try to act, and just been act­ing. Doing my best not to over-think things. Taking it one call, one con­ver­sa­tion, one day, one week at a time.


  1. The dec­o­ra­tions look neat. I won­der if the tea­house own­er is Chinese, nowa­days even Chinese use tea cups, those look like rice bowls. Some Chinese still use bowls for Chinese wine though.

    Hey, good to know that you’ve reached anoth­er lev­el of Taoism.

    • As far as I could tell, the own­er was­n’t Chinese but a British ex-pat with a posh accent who real­ly knew her stuff.

      The teacups were fan­tas­tic; they fit nice­ly in your hand with a very nice lip on them, and the rim was high enough that you did­n’t burn your fin­gers. All the lit­tle details about this tea shop were spot on.

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