A Cup of Tea

Sometimes, twinkly lights show up like a simple cup of tea and sweater leggings and fuzzy slippers and a fire, even though it's too hot. I drink tea because my one of my sisters is an Irish immigrant and my first real sister friend. Clodagh is a force to be reckoned with. She taught me to dance, far too long into the evening. And, then she taught me to eat bolognese sauce to get ready to dance again. Clodagh will laugh with you the most and will cry for you the most. Days after 9-11, we visited ground zero, together. I smelled so much burning and saw pieces of metal and buildings just laying next to us. And, Clodagh, put her arm around me, The American. Every time I screw up and call her sobbing, she says, in her Dublin accent, "Ahhh Sar, you are only human. If people can't love you and forgive you for who you are, well then, that's their issue, not yours,". And, tonight, she imparted her wisdom, once again. "This is my last stop. America is where I raise my children and where I will be buried. I love this country,". Clodagh does not give up on anything. She just keeps going and going and going. She does not give up. Not on anything, her birth country, her country where she raises her children, and her friend, she met years ago. Because I had to pick her up at the airport. She sent me fresh tea bags and a tea cup for Christmas. Because, she knows better than me. That, sometimes, our best moments are a cup of tea before sleep. A ritual before rest. So, we can get up again and dance the day and night away, again. So, we can dance, again.