Tag Archives: tea


Oh, my dears. It’s been a long week. And it is Friday night. The sky is dark, the moon is traveling past the stars, and much of the world is readying for bed. Curl up and listen to the tales I weave, until your eyes grow heavy and you slip into slumber, ready for the Dream Maker.

Deep in the stacks of maps on the third floor of the British Library lived Decklen. Old, composed, and rather polite, Decklen grew up among the books and manuscripts, from a teensy little pup to the venerable and aged creature he is today. Fed and cared for by librarians (who love a well-behaved furry thing who adores knowledge as much as they do), Decklen grew in size and in education. His appetite for books and information surpassed his appetite for toast and jam early.

If one had managed to stay in the library overnight, one might witness this fellow loping past the stacks, re-shelving books, pulling new ones, taking big deep and satisfied sighs when he found a book he particularly wanted.

And so Decklen grew and aged in the British Library. He slept behind shelves and danced in moonlight on the terraces. He ate up as much knowledge as he could, and he learned how to brew a perfect cup of tea. Unfortunately, with health regulations being what they are these days, the librarians were forced to ask Decklen to leave. They knew that he would find a new home, surrounded by new pages. With a noggin filled with Chaucer and science and even some rather significant philatelic facts, this monster would, at the very least, be delightful conversation.

Perhaps you should peruse a bookstore or a library soon. Perhaps you should keep some toast in your pocket, and maybe a tea bag or two. Look through the stacks of books – the really dusty ones with books gleaming with words and not fancy covers. That’s usually where Decklen can be found.

Sleep tight, my pets. Dream deep.


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Mordecai arrived late last night (or early this morning, depending on your point of view). His hands were purple – as though he had been dying fabrics in indigo – and the circles beneath his eyes were especially dark.

I didn’t ask any questions – I learned long ago it’s much better if I don’t ask questions – and simply put a hot pot of oolong tea on his nightstand whilst he was soaking in a hot bath of lavender and thyme.

This morning’s bright sunlight truly illuminated Mordecai’s windlestrawness.

Windlestraw is a noun. Originally it merely meant a dry, thin stalk of grass. Of Scot, Irish and British origin, the word eventually came to mean anything weak or feeble, especially a thin unhealthy person.

It comes from the Old English windelstrēaw, from windel basket, from windan –  to wind plus strēawstraw.

My brother has always resembled a windlestraw, though if you know Mordecai, you know that he is stronger than a minotaur and as healthy as they come. He just looks terrible.

But don’t tell him that. He’s rather cocksure.

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Seasonal Sneezes

I’ve been struck with a wumpus of a head cold and have been rather under the weather. Both Bubo and Silas have plied me with tinctures and all manner of disgusting tonics, but to no avail. It seems the only cure is copious naps and tea. Bubo blames the sudden burst of summer. Silas blames our fellow man, which he believes to be vacuous vessels for germs and nothing more. He’s quite hard on everyone, you know.

I merely over extended myself and managed to get caught in a number of chills before succumbing to a virus. Quite simple, really.

This delightful video made me tap my toes, though. Which helps battle the common cold.


Thanks to Laughing Squid for bringing this to my attention.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m reading Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams and I’ve got a hot cuppa steaming.

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Silas Dances

Silas’s post-tea ritual: modern dance-esque movements to Serge Gainsbourg. Think Martha Graham meets an ostrich meets a road-side construction situation.

Moving to say the least.

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