Not Nice Enough for Tea

At left, my new tea kettle. I've fought with the stylish older kettle given to me as a present. I've had to move on. I love the two-tone of my old kettle but there is a seam between two plates of rolled steel two-thirds of the way up the side and so now it leaks when you pour.

Unacceptable.

So, onto a solid one-piece rolled model. Now, this one isn't perfect and takes a little modification to pour correctly (have to remove a silicone seal under the lid to prevent hot water "chugging" out irregularly.) Nevertheless, this works.

The whistle is functional but not is not a screecher. I probably need a screecher but we'll see how "field testing" goes.

Which brings me to tea. Civilized people offer tea in civil settings. "Could I make you a cup of tea?" is common enough between nice people.

I try not to be social enough to allow this event to pass. I know the consequences.

My humor is harder than most. I think that's why I like crime and murder. I can stand amidst slaughter and mayhem emotionally unmoved. Makes me just right for some things, not right for others.

It makes me not right for tea. It also makes me a little lonely sometimes for kindred spirits.

"I laugh at the wrong things" your mother would say.

 I wrote a paper in college on Greek sensibilities from the Aeneid and the Oddyssey.  I was drawn to the phrases such as "their heads dashed upon the rocks as extra puppies in an unwanted litter." Tells you a great deal about common animal control practices in enlightened Athens.

My underlying premise is that underneath the pale civilized exterior we create with the plaster of civility lies the common desire to harm, maim, murder, deceive, deprive, and oppress. You'll argue; but, I'm not really soliciting counter arguments. I've stood too deep in blood spilled by neighbors and relatives one against the other to believe any other assertions.

I think my perspective is of the man fully awake among those groggy from drink and addled by weariness.

How can I live with such a horrible worldview? Humor. The odd way the corpse rolls down the hill into the pool can strike me as funny. The two steps taken by a dead man and how he resembles Sheri Tewes on the dance floor in junior high is funny.

The head-back sprawl of an open-mouth corpse in a chair suggesting to me a monumental sneeze brings a smile.

The way I might find amusement in the unintentional release of a an engineered flu strain in Novosibirsk in 1977?  Really not for public consumption. ("it's just a cold" - actual last quote from a fellow in the aerosol disbursement program).

Macabre? Sure.

Not the fellow to sit in the cafe with over a pot of tea, however. My veneer is thin and worn.

I'm trying to put this little humour in the characters of my stories. It is harder to do than I thought while still making the character likable by the reader. A bit like my struggles to be likable. I'll have to try harder.

Off to write about the consequences of a corpse. Really changes that three-hour cruise.

Write something. Have some tea?