I am sitting cross-legged on the floor of my living room, sipping tea out of a mug with a farm scene on the front--a barn and a silo and green fields and a farmhouse, canopied by huge, beautiful night stars. It is my third cup of the day and has gone cold twice already. To me, this tea is a thing of permanence. A reminder of my father before me and his mother before him, and I suspect it will be a reminder of me to my children, if ever they are to be born. I have no memory of tea tasting new and adventurous, because it has always been. It is infinity, spherical, and permanent. I do, however, have fond and strong memories of the ever-presence of tea in this little life of mine. Drinking cup after cup, a bag at a time, when I worked in Rhode Island. Me in my little rehearsal studio with strong, sweet cups of tea in round, white mugs with an apple painted on the front. The caffeine kept me awake for hours. Today, thinking back to a sentiment from years ago, I resurrected the teapot my father bought me when I went away to college. I hope this teapot never breaks--I am sure I couldn't recover from the loss. If I were to visit my father today, he would be drinking the largest cup of tea known to mankind. A 64oz mug that my mother made a few years ago when she took a pottery class. My father's tea is weak--one generic Target brand tea bag--and scalding hot. He will microwave this tea over and over again throughout the day, and when his mug is empty, he'll start all over again. He is a chain-drinker.
Tea does not remind me of my mother.
There are other things that remind me of my mother--Harry Potter, New England beach vacations, Pennsylvania, a potter's wheel, Girl Scouts, veterinarians, my dead grandmother, the sci-fi channel, and infinite other things. After 317 pages, I can't tell you what reminds Isabel of her mother. Perhaps it's intangible. But, I don't think it's tea.
I'm not sure I can think about this book in any solid terms. It is an ok story, but I can't pull much depth from its pages. It will not speak to me for years to come. It will only hover in the atmosphere for the next few hours or days, until something else covers it over for good.
I've finished my tea. No more today.
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Books mentioned in this book:
The Diary of Anais Nin, 1931-1934
Nicholas Nickelby
David Copperfield
Great Expectations
Pickwick Papers
No Exit
The Way We Were
Love and Death
The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea
Nashville
Brigadoon
The King and I
On the Waterfront
A Midsummer Night's Dream
The Little Foxes
Equus
Marat/Sade
The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-In-The-Moon Marigolds
Othello
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
A Streetcar Named Desire
Godspell
The Miracle Worker
Guys and Dolls
My Fair Lady
I Can Get It for You Wholesale
These are mostly plays, since Isabel was a theatre person.