My 2004 Tea/Tisane Log

1. yerba maté, 1 January
2. genmaicha, 9 January
3. South African Rooibos (with honey crystals), 10 January
4. chamomile lemon herb, 15 January
5. Northwest blackberry, 17-19 January
6. lime herbal teasan, 6 February
7. aged Earl Grey, 17 February
8. black cherry tea (organic Ceylon tea with black cherry flavor), 5 March
9. black tea blend (organic), iced, 17 March
10. oolong, 19 March
11. iced green tea with apple, peach, ginger, and elderberry juices, 21 March
12. artificially flavored "raspberry tea", iced, packed with dyes, preservatives, and possibly tea, 24 March
13. True Blueberry™ herb tea, 19 April
14. raspberry yerba maté (iced), 6 May
15. white (with orange blosson and ginger), iced, 14 May
16. Morning Dew™ (organic Chinese green), 19 May
17. chai tea latte (iced), 20 May
18. black with apricot, 9 June
19. "The Fire" herbal blend, 12 June
20. Ginger Cameronian (iced), 25 June
21. herbal Wu Wei blend, 2 July
22. Moroccan Mint Green (green with spearmint, peppermint, and honey - all organic), iced, 7 July
23. Organic oolong and black, with organic peach (iced), 17 July

I think about that yoga class, and about how good I felt the following weekend. The idea of committing to a seven-week session appeals to me. The price is excellent, I think.

Lynn and Phillip both seem a little concerned about the chanting and the altar involved. The possibility that there might be religion behind it doesn't bother me. I'm a Methodist-raised Lutheran with a Buddhist style of life. Why not throw some Hinduism into the mix?

I've always looked at gym clubs as unnecessary. I walk. I take the stairs. Is a yoga class any better? I think so. Yoga seems to be about mental and physical development.

I've never taken the djembe classes I thought about. Circumstances this year sidelined the Spanish classes I promised myself. Am I pulling myself in too many directions again? Or should I go with my feelings instead of forcing myself into something because I think I should?

A young woman on the bus home today had a large tattoo on her leg. It seemed to be a phrase, written in Old English-style script. I couldn't read it from across the aisle, though. You may be thinking: "So what?" That's exactly what I was thinking. Once upon a time, a tattoo was a shocking thing. I've read that sailors used to get tattoos to mark some significant event, or some interesting port of call. I'm not against tattoos - not at all - I was just sad this afternoon, thinking about how tattoos, like so much in our society, have lost their significance through overuse. That's all.

Years ago, I thought about a tattoo. What I decided to do, however, was design my own tattoo and set it aside. Then, I decided, I'd look at it six months later and if it still seemed like a good idea, I'd get tattooed. I drew a picture of a rabbit sitting a magician's top hat. I decided the tattoo would go just above my right ankle. I developed second thoughts after only two months. I never got a tattoo.

I did get my ear lobe pierced, however, way back in 1979, when such a thing was shocking.

There are several busses I can catch to and from work, but the two without transfers are the 9 and the 60. I like the 60, with its zig-zaggy route on Broadway, Madison, and 9th. It drops me off, and picks me up, right in front of work. It passes some great scenery - with lots of variety. Inside, it doesn't offer much in people-watching. It's usually a 40-foot diesel of a model I have yet to identify. (There was a time when I knew Metro coaches.) It's a bus friendly to persons with mobility problems - low floor, no steps at either door, and a higher floor in back. There aren't many seats, compared to other busses, and it's never full. The problem with the 60 is that it doesn't work well with my 8 to 4:30 schedule. The morning bus, in its current schedule, can get me to work at either 7:20-something or 7:50-something (the latter is too close for comfort - no room for delays). In the afternoon, I have to wait until 4:55 - that's a 25-minute wait for a 10-minute ride.

The 9 seems to be working better. I leave the apartment later in the morning, and get to work at a quarter til. If I leave on time from work, I can catch the 4:40 bus home. The 9 is a straight shot down Broadway. The scenery isn't as interesting as the 60, but the 9 is usually a busy 60-foot trolley - lots of people to watch.

There isn't much time for reading on either bus.

Currently, I have two books checked out of the library. One is Jack Kerouac's Lonesome Traveler. Kerouac is a hero of mine. The book is wonderful, so far, but it takes a lot of concentration to read. It's not an easy book to read at a bus stop, with lots of distractions.

The other book is Two Wheels North by Evelyn McDaniel gibe. I found it on the Seattle Public Library's "Staff Favorites." It's a true story of two high school aged boys who, in 1909, bicycled from Santa Rosa, California to Seattle, Washington to see the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition. It's a great book, so far, and easy to read.

I remembered a dream this morning: Kurt was bragging to me that he's memorized his Flexcar member number. (In the waking world, Kurt is not a Flexcar member.) The number he recited to me was very close to mine. I replied to him: "That's a coincidence. My number is..." Then I realized that the number I'd given Kurt was not my Flexcar member number, but my secret Flexcar PIN. Kurt was grinning. I'd been tricked.

Second impression of The New Job: I'm liking the slower pace. The amount of downtime is something I'll have to get used to, but I found today that I had time to interact with people, instead of merely moving patients through the system (which is how my previous job now appears in hindsight).

At the end of any First Day on a New Job, I usually experience some degree of doubt and fear - doubt that I'll be up to the challenge, fear that I'll learn the job too slowly. (The one exception in my life was the day I returned to Boeing after my first layoff and experienced the odd feeling of burnout on the First Day on a New Job.)

Today, I rode home with the concern that I'll learn the job too quickly. Their idea of a busy day, so far, is what I'd formally call a slow day. I may like this job, or I may not. It's really too soon to tell. Who knows? Maybe I'll enjoy a slowdown. Maybe things'll pick up.

I still cling to an old-fashioned notion that a job lasts until it ends. Maybe next year, I'll reconsider that. Even if this New Job suits me, maybe it's time to be more proactive - to look around at what's out there while things are still going good.

I've traded beautiful lunchtime views of a college campus for beautiful lunchtime views of a waterfront city skyline.