beautiful monsters: tea trolly

February 12, 2005

tea trolly

At the supermarket a guy in a kilt comes around the end of the aisle and says something that I later decide must have been “nice Triquetra” because when I go “huh” he points at my tattoo and says “that’s what it’s called”. But at the time I just go “huh” again, because I’m trying to work out if there’s a difference between the different brands of English Breakfast tea. And what makes it English Breakfast anyway, is it a different species of tea, or the way they process it, or something they add to it, or is it really just the same as English Afternoon Tea? And now I’m worried that the guy in the kilt thinks that I’m one of those people who gets tattoos carved into their bodies without any knowledge or understanding of the symbols.


The velodrome on Waitangi day really was like that fruju ad, the one that I hate… everyone cowering under umbrellas, and crowded into the tiny scraps of shade behind the stalls and vehicles. The sun seems so fierce these days. I came away with a red stripe across each arm, where my sleeves moved up a few millimeters after I put sunblock on.


This week was Ash Wednesday, and I put together the liturgy for the Rush-hour reflection at St A’s. It was really cool, we did the whole thing with the ashes and oil, making symbols (spirals and circles as well as crosses) on our hands. We also built stone paths into a little wilderness area, and lit candles. I love rituals like this. I find it hard to just sit still and listen, I feel more in touch with the experience when I can do something physical and tangible. Perhaps that’s my Steiner roots.


Tonight a cicada flew in my window. At first it zipped around, making clicking noises as it whacked into the walls and ceiling. Then it sat in a corner and chirped. Now it seems to be doing an Icarus with the lightbulb. My attempts at encouraging it in the direction of the window, or capturing it and forcibly removing it, have not been successful. I wonder if I can sleep with the racket it’s making.

Posted by Fionnaigh at February 12, 2005 05:47 AM | TrackBack


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