Tea or happiness

The dark red bricks of Central Middle School, were stacked like blocks next to a trampled back yard - lined for football, the grass fading. I stood there, looking.

I had caught the answer before I had even gotten to South Park, where two apparent lovers sat at far ends of a black iron bench. They scootched over as a photographer waved them towards each other from where she was standing near the flower beds - some flowers still blooming in mid fall - her long lens catching multiple images of the lovers as they kissed and kissed again. I had caught some splashing from at least twice as far away.

I had earlier asked for a refill at Aimee’s and as Abbi had scooped ice from a bin, she had asked: tea or happiness?’

Good question, I thought.

And for a split second, I was caught betwixt - then I noted the question onto a scrap of paper. Nimble matters. But no time now.

My quick answer, on walking along the sidewalk with my refill, had been this: Tea and happiness are nearly the same. I had found the truth, really, in a heartbeat. They both pour easily, if you please. And I’ll play with the words, if I please. I think that the secret is to have your glass receptive.

Sometimes, if your face is turned towards the source of the pouring, you get splashed. Sometimes, tea and happiness spill over.

A woman working with wood in her garage off the alleyway between 13^th and 14^th streets had tipped some my way as I passed - some of her happiness into mine as we chatted.

My iced tea refill was half sipped by the time I had reached the field at Central.

If you spin out in the open, your arms outstretched, your eyes wide open, everything blurs in a mostly pleasing sort of way and then, when you stop, the world wobbles a little. You might as well have just drunk a very fine wine.

And then the last half block through the leaves on the sidewalk carried my foot falls home.

I opened the front door and then still more happiness poured from my wife’s eyes, changing and unchanged for the last thirty years. We caught each other for a few moments. Sometimes happiness is the easiest thing in the world.

Then refried beans, reheated, from a container in the freezer, then wrapped in a tortilla, reheated a little more. Some yogurt and salsa on top. Kale on the side. It’s as good as it gets – and it’s just refried beans.

It is who you see and how you ask, of course.

And then before going off to book group after the dishes were washed, I cut an oversized Serpente squash from the vines in the garden for Susan, who later served us fake cheesecake on paper plates for dessert. ‘It’s so easy to make,’ she had said. And her laughing at the silly squash had splashed so easily. The thirty or forty years between Abbi’s and Susan’s ages seemed to make no significant difference at all. Tea and smiling women go together like ice in a receptive glass. But don’t just stand there.

Happiness and tea can be poured. If there is a secret - and it is not that well-hidden - it is simply how you hold your glass. Refills – now I am being specific about tea at Aimee’s – are included in the price that your pay at the register. Consider who and how you ask, but refills shall be given.

Whether you call it tea or squash or happiness, the words are not so much the difference. The point is to ask for what you want and to give freely. The result is a refill of what you naturally desire.

The harder question is this: why would we withhold our glass when, for example, iced tea is so simple – it’s just ice and tea – and water – poured?

And like tea, happiness can be similarly refilled with a smile. You truly just have to know who and how to ask. If you ask me, I think that you could walk out the answer for yourself in a few fortuitous blocks.

I recommend a receptive glass.