Current count in the US is everywhere and honestly I’d prefer not to discuss it, but since we may look back at this at some point in the future, for the purpose of documentation, I will go there.

800,000 cases

40,000 have lost their lives

And now that we are over that bit, I will tell you a story about a man that lived in a house near our hotel by Earl’s Court Station in London.

Every morning, when we headed out on our adventures, we saw him. Tall, thin, and the look of money which matched his very expensive Kensington townhome with the Robin’s Egg Blue door. I would say he was maybe 80 years old.

We would always leave early and he was always there doing something. The first day, he had a small table set up outside the front door with a teapot and a very nice tea cup. He was dressed in crisp khakis, a belt, and a crisp white (obviously professionally laundered) button up shirt. No tie.

He also held a small pot of Robin’s Egg Blue paint and a small paintbrush. He was sipping the tea intermittently while slowly and lovingly touching up the paint on the front door.

He didn’t pay any attention to us as we passed (this day or any of the others) but I think that had less to do with being impolite and more to do with being so enthralled with his work that we were not significant in the moment.

The following day he was there again, teacup in hand, but no teapot this time. Just the cup. And he was supervising workers on scaffolding painting the upper exterior of the townhouse. He was clearly an involved supervisor and I’m not sure the painters appreciated his presence, but when he motioned here or commented there, they immediately changed positions and said yes, sir.

I wonder about him. Was he in the middle of some major crisis? Had his wife become ill, and maybe even later that day would he be driving her to a doctor’s appointment? Or visiting her in a nursing home? Or maybe visiting her grave?

I’m not sure why I think that. His wife might have been inside sharing memes on Facebook but something about him made me think he was trying to hang on. To routine. To control. To some semblance of daily life that he could cling to.

As Scott and I were walking yesterday, I told him the story of the London gentleman and he said you know, I think there’s something to that. It’s why our routines are so important, especially in times when things are falling apart. They ground us and remind us that some things can still be relied upon.

You can turn on a tea kettle, get water boiling, make a pot of tea and carefully pour it into a beautiful cup (after milk first, of course) and then you can find yourself something to stay busy. To stay inspired. To stay alive.

It’s International Tea Day and so I’d like to dedicate today’s blog to the man in the crisp white shirt with the lovely tea cup outside the townhouse with the Robin’s Egg Blue Door. I hope you’re still waking up every day and making your tea. And living your life.

Take care.