A simple, quiet pleasure in my otherwise frantic and complicated life is to sit in the comfy chair on the shady porch overlooking the sparkling lake and enjoy my favorite blend of iced tea. I brew it the morning of our trip to the cabin, decanting one container full for lunch time later, and pouring the rest into a large plastic cup for the drive to the cabin. Generally, this works out just as planned.
On my most recent trip to Roundrock, however, my fumbling fingers fouled my fun.
I use loose tea, which Libby gets for me in a big bag about once a year. It’s blended by a tea company in Santa Fe (and next time I’m there, I really ought to visit the place). When it’s time to brew some, I put a carefully measured quantity into the paper filter and put it in the brewing machine. Twenty minutes later: liquid perfection. Except . . .
When I sat before the sparkling lake last visit and pulled forth my bottle of tea from the cooler, it didn’t look right. It looked weak. I like strong tea, so I’ve grown accustomed to the color my tea should have, and this time it was too light. Once I noticed this, I told myself that I could taste a difference in it too. (Whether I actually did or perhaps just persuaded myself I could, I don’t know. I do know that I managed to drink all of it.)
Once home again, I began the investigation, and I went immediately to what I suspected was the source of the strife. Yes, I had accidentally used two paper filters that morning instead of one. The damned things are as thin as paper, for goodness sake, and I guess I was not awake enuf to feel the difference when two stuck together. (Though how am I able to distinguish this every other time I brew tea?)
But you can see blue sky and a mostly full lake in that picture above, so I really didn’t have much to complain about that fine day.