Looking forward to comparing this year and next year’s State of the Union!
You didn’t mention this but I definitely am in favor of keeping the voiceovers (laryngitis permitting) … Also I felt grateful just hearing the Google story!!!
Me too! And thank you for your feedback on the voiceovers -- I actually really enjoy recording them, and I prefer to listen to things ala Podcast... so I will absolutely keep them! And I'm excited about the Google surprise too -- very interested to see what happens over the next few months of developing my Google expertise!!
This was a great set of stories. The virtual tea party was a fabulous addition and it reminds me I need to take some more time and intent with my tea like I used to
I am so grateful for sharing tea with you on that day, and reflecting on the healing powers of tea, the power of tea to give care to one another. It was wonderful to make another cup and spend quality time with Past Anastasia and reflect on all the ways that our lives though distant, have been uplifted and enriched by our friendship. Here is the Tea Story I wrote that day:
Hi Anastasia,
My tea story is a story of community care, finding a chosen family and the goodness in the hearts of friends and strangers.
For about 10 years now, I’ve been religiously attending the Saturday afternoon jazz show featuring The Happy Pals at Grossman’s Tavern (Toronto’s famous home for the blues and jazz) I was a regular, and known by the bar staff, the band and the other patrons.
One Saturday, just a few years ago, I was running late. I was on my bicycle, riding through the downtown core, across Dundas Street to go up Spadina Avenue to Grossman’s. It was the heart of Toronto’s central Chinatown. Toronto streets can be hazardous at times for cyclists. It was an unlucky Saturday afternoon for me. I was just riding up to the intersection when the traffic lights changed. I stopped, and suddenly a silver BMW sped into the intersection to make a hasty right turn. The car sideswiped me, pulling me along forward with it and then hit my front wheel knocking me off my bike and onto the street.
The car drove away. I was wearing my helmet and gloves, so I lived to type you my story.
Fear, Pain, surprise, confusion flood my body.
I’m immediately surrounded by all the people who were waiting at the corner to cross the road. I’m gently helped into a sitting position on the curb. Someone cusses loudly and shakes a fist at the car, now far down the street. My bike is retrieved by someone, the handlebars and wheel straightened.
Two grandmotherly women are at my sides. They sigh and cluck and fuss over me in rapid syllables of Chinese.
“Ok, OK, okay, ya. Yes.” One says kindly and expressively. She rummages in her purse, finds some serviettes and begins to clean up my bleeding face and wipe the street grime off me.
“That man bad. Very Bad” she gestures in the direction of the car’s retreat. I agreed. Then from the depths of her purse she pulls out a faded, cracked, beige thermos and pours me a cup of tea.
It was hot, and strong, and the green tea was flavoured with the taste of the plastic and all the hundreds of cups of tea it had kept warm over the years.
Someone offers to take me to a doctor, but I’m stunned and slightly concussed. I’m anxious to get to jazz! It’s all that I want, all that I can think about. I finish the tea, and am walked through the intersection, handed my bike, and sent on my way.
I make it to Grossman’s. The owner sees me, takes my bike and helps me inside. I’m provided with another cup of tea (this one spiked with brandy) and I tell of my misadventure.
The band finished their song, and the bassist and trumpeter come over to check on me. They play another tune, exchanging whispers on stage.
They announce that the Pianist is going to be gone for a short time, and that he’s going to just drive me over to the hospital and be right back.
I needed six stitches in my face, and was awfully bruised, but I was fine. They kept my bike safe for me, and looked after me. My jazz bar family.
The strangers shopping in Chinatown stopped to pick me up, sort me out and give me tea.
The healing powers of tea transcend age, language, culture and bring us all together in loving care.
That would be amazing, Bee! I will keep you updated -- so far he has been pretty hesitant about getting into the trap, but we are going to try using some more enticing food!
Looking forward to comparing this year and next year’s State of the Union!
You didn’t mention this but I definitely am in favor of keeping the voiceovers (laryngitis permitting) … Also I felt grateful just hearing the Google story!!!
Me too! And thank you for your feedback on the voiceovers -- I actually really enjoy recording them, and I prefer to listen to things ala Podcast... so I will absolutely keep them! And I'm excited about the Google surprise too -- very interested to see what happens over the next few months of developing my Google expertise!!
This was a great set of stories. The virtual tea party was a fabulous addition and it reminds me I need to take some more time and intent with my tea like I used to
I am one of the Tea Party Kula attendees.
I am so grateful for sharing tea with you on that day, and reflecting on the healing powers of tea, the power of tea to give care to one another. It was wonderful to make another cup and spend quality time with Past Anastasia and reflect on all the ways that our lives though distant, have been uplifted and enriched by our friendship. Here is the Tea Story I wrote that day:
Hi Anastasia,
My tea story is a story of community care, finding a chosen family and the goodness in the hearts of friends and strangers.
For about 10 years now, I’ve been religiously attending the Saturday afternoon jazz show featuring The Happy Pals at Grossman’s Tavern (Toronto’s famous home for the blues and jazz) I was a regular, and known by the bar staff, the band and the other patrons.
One Saturday, just a few years ago, I was running late. I was on my bicycle, riding through the downtown core, across Dundas Street to go up Spadina Avenue to Grossman’s. It was the heart of Toronto’s central Chinatown. Toronto streets can be hazardous at times for cyclists. It was an unlucky Saturday afternoon for me. I was just riding up to the intersection when the traffic lights changed. I stopped, and suddenly a silver BMW sped into the intersection to make a hasty right turn. The car sideswiped me, pulling me along forward with it and then hit my front wheel knocking me off my bike and onto the street.
The car drove away. I was wearing my helmet and gloves, so I lived to type you my story.
Fear, Pain, surprise, confusion flood my body.
I’m immediately surrounded by all the people who were waiting at the corner to cross the road. I’m gently helped into a sitting position on the curb. Someone cusses loudly and shakes a fist at the car, now far down the street. My bike is retrieved by someone, the handlebars and wheel straightened.
Two grandmotherly women are at my sides. They sigh and cluck and fuss over me in rapid syllables of Chinese.
“Ok, OK, okay, ya. Yes.” One says kindly and expressively. She rummages in her purse, finds some serviettes and begins to clean up my bleeding face and wipe the street grime off me.
“That man bad. Very Bad” she gestures in the direction of the car’s retreat. I agreed. Then from the depths of her purse she pulls out a faded, cracked, beige thermos and pours me a cup of tea.
It was hot, and strong, and the green tea was flavoured with the taste of the plastic and all the hundreds of cups of tea it had kept warm over the years.
Someone offers to take me to a doctor, but I’m stunned and slightly concussed. I’m anxious to get to jazz! It’s all that I want, all that I can think about. I finish the tea, and am walked through the intersection, handed my bike, and sent on my way.
I make it to Grossman’s. The owner sees me, takes my bike and helps me inside. I’m provided with another cup of tea (this one spiked with brandy) and I tell of my misadventure.
The band finished their song, and the bassist and trumpeter come over to check on me. They play another tune, exchanging whispers on stage.
They announce that the Pianist is going to be gone for a short time, and that he’s going to just drive me over to the hospital and be right back.
I needed six stitches in my face, and was awfully bruised, but I was fine. They kept my bike safe for me, and looked after me. My jazz bar family.
The strangers shopping in Chinatown stopped to pick me up, sort me out and give me tea.
The healing powers of tea transcend age, language, culture and bring us all together in loving care.
If you succeed in capturing Jasper, I can recommend some Flower Essences to help ease the introduction into your family. Cheers, Bee
That would be amazing, Bee! I will keep you updated -- so far he has been pretty hesitant about getting into the trap, but we are going to try using some more enticing food!