I wish I could remember who started me on the path to tea, but I know that it has been a quiet presence in my life's background since college, as I believe Sperry drank tea regularly. I have no doubt that in the passing years I have been offered many a cup and turned them down due to lack of familiarity.I believe it may have been Gareth, when he stayed with us a few years ago, bringing a box of tea with him and having a cup during even the hottest days of summer.

You know me. I make a plan, and I sink into it. I was told yesterday by a friend that he envies my focus, and perhaps it's true; I perceive myself as scatterbrained but maybe it's not so much so as I tend to think. The books scattered across multiple rooms would certainly belie that opinion.Life's been odd lately.

I've been trying to put it into words and have thrown every attempt away; the entry I quickly entitled 'braille night' has been rewritten at least seven times, with every attempt causing me more frustration and leaving me nothing but silence here.

The importance of some things can't be overstated. I've known this day was coming, and said nothing, keeping the date close to my chest in order to have just a little more time to think about it.

When I came back from a Colorado vacation a year ago this week, I told you the superficial stories first. I saved the crucial one for last and dreaded the telling, because I knew how much of a surprise its contents would be for virtually everyone I've ever known:

When I was a teenager, I would stay up late on Christmas Eve, an ear on the quiet in the house and a mug of hot chocolate in my hand, watching whatever TV specials were available. Christmas Day was for family, but Christmas Eve was mine alone, a day of peace and quiet and reading.

Christmas Eve is a jazz day for me, the day that I dig out my Cassandra Wilson and Diana Krall and soak myself in the quieter side of life. Christmas Day is for family and yelling and presents and food and laughter; Christmas Eve belongs to me.

In the end, it was simple, but then again, most things, when concentrated to their essences, are.I packed my swimsuit before flying out west, even though I knew it would be too cold to swim outside. They promised that the hot tub would be nearer than I believed, and that once I got in it, I would … understand.

It was, and I did.

Three a.m. found me outside, talking quietly into a cell phone while the cicadas traded stories with the crickets about the end of summer. Beneath me, the concrete gathered chill from the still, silent air, as clouds played peekaboo with a gibbous moon.