Shelter in Place

Recently it has become easier not to drink than to indulge in the practice that so given so many people sanctuary. That doesn't mean I have forgotten the pleasure or dumped my best friend down the drain to avoid temptation. In fact, I do sometimes fantasize about pouring the golden liquid over chipped ice and stretching out in the sunshine. I love remembering the time I spent in the Napa Valley with girlfriends after the end of my first marriage. We called ourselves the glen-live-it-ups, and met once a week to sit in a hot tub, support each others' perceptions and share creative daydreaming. But re-creating those days are no more than a whimsical fantasy, like my day dream of spending a month or two in a rustic cottage near Monet's garden in Giverny. I long to visit his flowers for multiple days, viewing those treasures at various times of the day, for an extended period of time. My drink of choice would be Lillet Blanc, with a little triple cream cheese and some fresh cucumbers or lettuce sprinkled with freshly ground salt and pepper.


But now, instead of my favorite Scotch, (not the best, mind you, just my personal favorite) I am sipping a cup of hibiscus tea out of Royal Albert Autumn Roses bone china. Whenever I travel I visit antique stores and consignment shops hoping to update my collection of beautiful teacups. I say "add" rather than "update" because I limit the number of teacups on display at any given time to 10. I love to drink out of them while remembering the circumstances of their discovery: the date, the location and how I felt when I first selected them. 

My current favorite was purchased at Second Hand Rose, a flea market on the North Shore of Lake Superior during a camping trip at Split Rock State Park. I booked a remote site with canoe access and spent the time hiking, writing, taking amazing photos of the lake and drinking tea from my new purchase. In my excitement when discovering my new treasure, I neglected to notice that I forgot to pack my go-to breakfast ingredients: oatmeal, chocolate chips and pecans, until I reached my campsite 3 miles from the parking lot where I left my car. I weighed my options and decided that I had enough protein and fat in my backpack. I could not imagine that I would suffer from a more limited number of carbohydrates than originally planned. The time flew by, I rationed my supplies wisely, and soon found myself back in civilization, none the worse for the experience.