Excitement on the Mt. Ka'ala Trail

When you are hiking, the best time to call 911 is when nobody has been killed, no forest fire has started, and prompt action by the authorities may prevent both of these otherwise likely events.

Because we have a mere 2 weeks left before we leave Oahu for good, we decided that yesterday was the perfect opportunity to survey the island from its highest point. The hikers were Ari, myself, P17, and E15, as the younger boys have already headed to the mainland and are enjoying their grandparents' company. Unfortunately, poor P17 has been struggling with ingrown toenails and didn't plan to complete the entire hike, so we parked near the trailhead at a friend's house near the top of Waianae Valley Road. The first mile or so of the trail is on a paved road (alternating concrete and asphalt) behind a locked gate, so our plan was to have P17 turn back at the end of the paved portion, return to our friends' house, and spend the rest of the day with them while the other 3 of us hiked on. 

The hike started out as planned, with views down Waianae valley as we walked along the road. We passed a structure belonging to the Board of Water Supply surrounded by chain link fencing and continued up the road when we saw what looked like a fallen, uninsulated guy wire near some other fragments of wire and what looked like bubbles of tar on the concrete road. This was odd, so we stopped for a closer look. The bubbles of tar were brittle and behaved more like volcanic glass, but they surrounded actual holes in the concrete, about an inch (2 cm) in diameter. With the uninsulated wire hanging just over the road surface, we wondered if there was any chance it could be live. We didn't think it was likely, because wouldn't one insulate a live wire? But of course it's good to be cautious. Ari and I warned the teenagers to stay back and moved quite far away ourselves before Ari tossed one of the loose fragments of wire toward the hanging wire.

Yes. It was live. Decidedly so. Streams of violent sparks emerged from the frayed end of the hanging wire and the entire length of the loose fragment, showering both the concrete of the road and the vegetation to the side. Fortunately, the vegetation was greener than is typical in Waianae, and it didn't immediately ignite. Ari tossed a stick to dislodge the wire fragment from the live wire, then used a much longer stick to move the wire fragment well out of the way, and we stood frozen, well back from the hanging wire. We felt grateful to be alive and not to have set the brush alight, and with elevated heart rates we decided to call 911. 

The 911 dispatcher took me seriously and immediately connected me to the fire department, who in turn connected me to HECO (Hawaiian Electric Company). I described the situation and our location, and they promised to look into it as soon as possible. At this point P17 decided to head back down the trail to our friends' house, because for some reason she didn't feel comfortable walking past that live wire all by herself. As we went on, we noticed that the cross piece at the top of the power pole was labelled HIGH VOLTAGE, that there had been three strands before the power pole in question and there were two afterward, that there was a tree fallen against the wires, and that the far end of the wire was resting on the surface of the road. We stepped high over it, although it seemed much less likely to be live because it was touching the road without sparking, and went on our way, thanking God for the gift of all 4 of us still being not dead.

My internet research about the trail led me to believe that it would be clearly marked with purple blazes, but I expect the pandemic has pushed trail maintenance to the far back burner. We corrected our first wrong turn fairly quickly and crossed a stream, but made a second wrong turn (downhill when we should have gone uphill, I think) that resulted in crossing a second stream followed by a steep climb-scramble through the woods on a trail that on the mainland could have been blamed on deer, though there are no deer here. This pseudo-trail hit a fence along the ridge line, which continued uphill away from Mt. Ka'ala and downhill toward Mt. Ka'ala. Despite my disappointment at having to lose altitude that had been so difficult to gain, logic won out and we continued toward Mt. Ka'ala as the trail gradually began to trend uphill again. At some point we joined up with the real trail, which was different from our detour in being more beaten down and having less ankle-scratching undergrowth but not in being any easier on my knees. From this point it was clear and obvious which way we should go, because of the sheer or almost-sheer cliffs on either side. There were ropes to help with the ascent, but some of the ropes were wire cable with frayed electrical conduit knotted to it as handholds. Somehow, I just didn't feel like grabbing those! When the trail went under a continuation of the same high voltage wires as before, I found myself cowering and looking up in suspicion as I occasionally gave my feet enough attention to keep them from plunging off the cliff. 

The final part of the trail was a boardwalk through a swamp full of ohi'a trees and moss - truly gorgeous. At the summit there was a military installation with a large white sphere for radar such as you see all over the island, surrounded by more chain link fence. My stomach finally felt settled enough, and I had burned enough calories, to thoroughly enjoy our lunch as low clouds swooped in and blocked off our view of the giant sphere. E15 explained that this was when Darth Vader emerged from within it. But by the time we had finished lunch, the clouds were moving out and there was even a little sun. We walked all the way around the fenced area and enjoyed views of the Waianae coast, the North Shore, the central valley, and even Pearl Harbor and Honolulu in the distance.

Our descent was beautiful and uneventful. We realized after descending a good distance that this trail was far better than the one on which we had ascended and that we must have made a wrong turn on the way up, and I was thrilled not to have to convince my left knee to descend the remarkable wooded slope we had scrambled up in the morning. When we were almost down we stopped for a rest in a grove of macadamias with a boulder perfectly shaped for nut cracking - a delightful, unexpected, foraged snack. We wondered if HECO had arrived yet, and resolved to phone and bug them if they hadn't.

Fortunately, we didn't need to make another phone call. When we returned to the place where the wire had been hanging, it was neatly wrapped around the utility pole and clearly no longer electrified. Parked next to the BWS structure was a HECO truck with a worker who told us that in this case, "high voltage" means 12,000 volts. (We were still a little freaked out. This additional info didn't change matters, but it explained how there could be volcanic glass and holes melted in concrete). There were also several bucket trucks from tree companies parked a little lower down the road. So the wonders of American infrastructure have stepped in to neutralize one of the most terrifying experiences I have ever had hiking.

Devotion - 10/4/20

 Scripture: Luke 5:31-32. And Jesus answered them, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance.

Observation: The gospel (good news) - there is healing and a healer - first requires recognizing the bad news - I am sick, unrighteous, and unable to heal myself. In Luke 4:25-28 Jesus highlighted two people who realized this, the widow of Zarephath who knew she was about to starve to death, and Naaman the Syrian who knew he had leprosy and couldn't heal himself. By doing what seemed to make little sense, they threw themselves on God's mercy, the widow when she baked her last bit of flour and oil and gave them to the prophet Elijah, and Naaman when he obeyed Elisha's instructions and bathed in the muddy Jordan when he had much nicer rivers at home. Jesus contrasted their faith (and the part they played in God's story) with the sense of self-sufficiency the people of his hometown showed. They thought being part of the people group God had chosen was good enough, they didn't need to do anything but already had it made because they were born that way. Jesus sought to break through that pride so they could see their need of good news in their poverty, liberty in their captivity, and sight in their blindness (Luke 4:18).

Application: How can I be sure to maintain the right attitude of need so I receive more healing from the Great Physician wherever I am poor, captive, or blind? I can follow Jesus' own example in Luke 5:15-16. Even as things got busy, he kept his priorities and identity straight by spending time alone with his Father in prayer. If Jesus himself needed to pray, how much more do I!

Prayer: Lord Jesus, you are the Great Physician. You have given me so much healing in so many areas already. And yet I know that while I am still breathing there is work you want to do in me. Show me where I am sinning and need repentance, where I am poor and need good news, where I am captive and need your liberty, where I am blind and need your vision. Also, at this time when the President is sick and in need of physical healing, I pray that you would open his eyes to his spiritual needs as well, and show him his inability to heal his own problems and his need to throw himself upon your mercy. I pray this for our other political leaders as well, and for my own family and friends - may we know our need of you and your sufficiency.

Z: Zoom Is Not the Same

Two months ago, I had never heard of Zoom. Over the past week, I used it 5 times, and my children used it another 3 times, while Ari uses it multiple times daily at work. While we're staying physically distant from all our friends and co-workers or clients, it seems like we've replaced as many of our in person interactions as possible with meetings using Zoom, Skype, or Google Hangouts. I am really grateful that I can see two-dimensional images of my friends', fellow church members', and students' faces, knowing that people who lived through pandemics centuries ago couldn't even have imagined this kind of luxury. But let's not kid ourselves. To single out a specific interaction type, Zoom Bible study is not the same as in person Bible study.

Earlier this year, when I went to Community Bible Study each Tuesday morning, I needed to wake up early. It was essential that I have my lesson prepared for the leaders' study as well as having prepared to teach the study to my middle school class, including gathering any materials needed for the object lesson and activities and putting my guitar in the car. I got everything loaded and drove for about an hour and 15 minutes, unless traffic was unusually bad. During that time, we all ate muffins and listened to an audiobook, and it created a clear distinction in my mind between being at home and being at Bible study.

Since the lockdown, our wonderful Associate Teaching Director set up Bible study on Zoom so that we didn't miss a single week. But the level of preparation needed was far lower. Instead of preparing to teach my middle school class, I was simply scanning my answers to the worksheet questions and emailing them to the moms so they could discuss the answers with their children if they chose to. I wasn't leading them in worship, so I didn't need to even touch my guitar. Our normal morning routine worked just fine for me to be on time to log in for our Leaders' Council study at 8:30 am, so there was nothing about the lead up to Bible study that helped me distance my mind from my home concerns. And there was nothing to keep my children from interacting with me and their noise from distracting me.

In addition, Zoom itself has numerous disadvantages over in person meetings. For one thing, eye contact and body language are impossible. My laptop's webcam can't help others distinguish which of over a dozen rectangles on my screen I am looking at, and I can't turn my body toward the speaker when I'm about to make a comment. I need to keep my session muted most of the time because of the inevitable background noises of doors slamming or boys quibbling over their Lego in the kitchen. This means there's an extra step if I want to make a comment. If I'm using speaker view instead of gallery view (essential in a large group to be able to see the facial expressions of the speaker), I can't tell if it has detected me as the speaker because I still see the previous speaker. A few people don't even turn on their videos, so I see their names but don't know if they're there. They could be listening, attentively but invisibly, or they could be in another room reading a book - there's no way to tell.

Generally, over the course of the discussion, a few people will make comments that would have triggered some sort of casual comment afterwards if we were in person - I might have gone up to the person and spent a few seconds saying, "I liked your point about..." or "I didn't know you also...". This might have led to a brief conversation, or not, but it would certainly build our relationship. Zoom doesn't allow for that sort of break-out private conversation, unless you send a private text, but the content one conveys by text isn't the same as what one can convey with eye contact.

In his well-known book Amusing Ourselves to Death, Neil Postman makes the point that "the medium is the message." In other words, the way we communicate what we have to communicate can say as much about what is important as the actual content of the communication. While I'm glad we have a medium that allows us to communicate some of our message, I think it's important to remember that we are not just images or faces, but whole humans with bodies that play an essential role in how we interact. Once this is all over, I hope I'll make the most of being able to communicate all the things that simply can't be communicated using a screen.

Y: Yeast

I liked being weird.

Before the lockdown, I baked 6 loaves of bread once or twice a week. I used my Vitamix to grind whole wheat berries into 12 cups of flour, mixed them with 7-8 cups of watered down yogurt or kefir, and left the mixture overnight. The next morning, I added 2 tablespoons of yeast, 2 tablespoons of salt, 1 tablespoon of baking soda, 3 cups of white flour, 3/4 cup of water, and 1/4 cup of honey, let it rise for an hour or two, divided into 6 loaves, let them rise a second time, and baked them for an hour. My children and I would eat at least 2 loaves on baking day, often 3, and the remainder would do for our lunch the rest of the week.

I don't know anyone else who bakes all their bread from scratch. My mom always baked for us when I was a child, which made me picky - I find the texture of store bread disquieting. But I know I'm unusual; most people don't eat enough bread or care enough about its texture to prioritize home bread baking. I never had any trouble finding ingredients, and completely took them for granted.

Shortly before COVID-19 became a pandemic, I finished the 2-lb Costco size pack of yeast in my freezer. Costco was no longer stocking it, so I got 2 of the little jars at the grocery store instead, told myself to order a big pack online, and forgot. Then a few weeks ago, I realized I needed to get around to ordering yeast online. I placed a pack in my Amazon shopping cart, added yeast to the grocery list, and searched for other items to add to my Amazon cart so I could get free shipping on my order of $25 or more. When I looked again, the yeast in my Amazon shopping cart was no longer available. Also, Ari, who has been doing all the shopping for me, went to 4 different stores and couldn't find any yeast - not even the little packages that would require 2 for a single baking day - in any of them. And white flour was getting hard to find, too - he came home with 2 small 2-lb packs of flour instead of a single 5-lb pack, saying there were no 5-lb bags of any kind of flour in the stores he'd visited.

Bother! I haven't changed my behavior, but everyone else has, and it's shoving me out of my usual routine! Fortunately, it turns out the bread rises some with the baking soda, so our loaves aren't bricks and we still devour 2 loaves on baking day. I was able to find yeast on Amazon, due to be delivered on May 11, almost 2 weeks after I placed the order. So it isn't a major inconvenience. But it does make me think about the fact that our entire society is structured in such a way that things run smoothly when everyone does what they've always done, but you end up with inconveniences to the people who've always done it that way when everyone else suddenly decides to copy them.

Of course, I'm not blaming people for doing more bread baking. It's always been the best and only reasonable thing to do - feed the stuff in stores to the ducks (if you hate them? I've heard it's bad for them) and bake real bread that doesn't turn into play dough in your mouth. I'm glad people are discovering that my way is better. Of course it is! I just need to be patient while the supply adjusts to the new, sensible demand.

(I would be making sourdough, but after a few attempts in a row where my starter grew mold before it really got started, I'm leery of wasting hard-to-find flour on another doomed experiment - since the mold spores are in my kitchen, I doubt they'll leave).

X: A Satisfying Mark to Put on a Checklist

When I was pregnant with H8, I fulfilled a lifelong dream by earning my private pilot's license. Flying is an expensive hobby, so although I keep the shiny license with the picture of the Wright brothers in my wallet where I can see it often, it is no longer current and I would need to spend a fair bit more time and money to regain enough proficiency to take an airplane up again. However, one skill from my flying lessons that is still useful on a daily basis is using a checklist.

Flying involves checklists for everything. Before you even get into the airplane, there's a list of items to check to make sure nothing is broken, the fuel in the tank is uncontaminated by water, there is enough oil in the engine, and so forth. Once you start up the engine, there's another checklist to ensure the engine is working right. Takeoff has a checklist, as does landing, and you memorize checklists for emergencies - if your engine fails, you don't want to have to flip through a manual to find the right checklist. The proper way to do the checklist is to know all the action items on the checklist, do them in order, and then systematically read the list to ensure that you actually did each item without missing anything.

Of course, if something goes wrong with an airplane while it's flying, you can't just pull over and park while you figure out what happened. But checklists are also useful in everyday life, where the consequences of deviating aren't as dire. I have often used checklists for myself and my children as we learn at home and keep it clean. The exact details of the checklists change with our needs, and during the lockdown I am using exactly one: my happy list.

Because all our outside activities are cancelled and we are restricted to only essential activities outside the home, I've been finding it less easy than usual to maintain a positive attitude. A few weeks ago, I sat down and listed things I like to do, things that make me feel good about myself when I do them. Instead of putting any kind of expectation in the title of the list, I simply called it, "Things I Like to Do Every Day". It includes Bible reading, prayer, singing a Psalm, putting on earrings, and working on several long term projects: memorizing several chapters of the Bible, learning Norwegian, practicing my violin, and writing for this blog. If I do nothing other than my happy list, I still feel that the day has been productive.

A side effect of having my happy list has been that I have more energy and joy to work with my children. Because I'm not feeling like life is all work and no play, I can encourage them to do things that give them joy, as well. This has the trickle down effect of making them happier, too. And as they see me gain fulfillment from doing things that are not only satisfying but useful, they are encouraged to spend time on things that truly satisfy them - P15 is writing, E14 is carving, B10 and H8 play with Lego, and E6 still enjoys Duplo. They spend time on computer games, but not all day. They, like me, have found that doing real things is more satisfying, even when the scope of real things is restricted by the pandemic.

What activities would you put on your happy list?

W: Writing Cooperatively

Three times now, our family has tried a fun writing experiment. Each participant needs their own computer. We agree on a starting sentence, like "The sun had finally risen over the rocky ridge." Then we start typing a story that goes along with that sentence.

After 15 minutes, a timer beeps. Everyone stands up and switches to a new computer. Each participant reads what has been written already, and continues the story for another 15 minutes. We cycle through until everyone has had an opportunity to write on every story. Depending on the number of participants and how much time we have, we might go through all or part of a second round. Finally, each person ends the story as well as they are able.

Now, let me tell you a little about my history with getting E14 to write. Last year, I tried to compel him to write a paragraph on some subject or other. "How long is a paragraph?" Well, it should be at least 4 sentences, I guess. "How long is a sentence?" Well, you need a subject, a verb, and probably some kind of direct object or modifier. "Okay, this twelve word paragraph fulfills those minimum requirements." Seriously? You just wrote a "paragraph" with fewer words than your age in years?

In September 2019, though, E14 (and P15) enthusiastically joined NCFCA, a Christian speech and debate league. All of a sudden, he was writing pages of material. There's something about not wanting to look like a moron in front of one's peers, I suppose. I decided that since I had been unsuccessful in teaching him to write, I'd just sit back and let NCFCA do it for me - it certainly seemed to be working much better. It was so satisfying to see him in a debate, hurriedly scrawling pages of notes in order to construct an argument that could rip his sister's points to shreds.

Of course, with COVID-19, the NCFCA season ended early. So much for my convenient writing program. But just last Saturday, E14 asked us, "Can we do the writing game?" Yes, my oldest son. Yes, voluntarily writing multiple paragraphs (with more than 12 words) in 4 different stories. Yes, on a Saturday! He had never shown an interest in the game before (it had always been Ari, P15, and me, with extended family added in over Christmas break). But I guess, given the motivation of NCFCA over the past 7 months, he has learned to enjoy writing, and actually missed writing on a regular basis. I wonder what other interests will come out of the woodwork if I can avoid forcing him.

V: Violin

I love my violin. It has been in the family for many years, and the story of how I got it is interesting.

When my uncles were young, they took violin lessons, using a violin handed down from an older relative. It was a full size violin and they were quite small, at least to begin with, so not surprisingly, it was difficult for them to get a good sound. My youngest uncle kept the violin in his attic in Norway for years. Then, he went to a fair and saw a gypsy fortune teller.

"One of your three daughters will be a musician." My uncle recalled painfully enduring the tortured sounds of beginning violin, and realized that if the gypsy was right, he might be subjected to that ordeal again. How could he avoid it? Fortunately, his niece, who played piano somewhat obsessively (that would be me) was going to be visiting Norway for Christmas. He heaved a sigh of relief.

As far as I know, none of my cousins is particularly musical, so my uncle's ears would likely have been safe if he'd left the violin in the attic. However, I'm delighted he didn't. Having obtained the violin, I started taking lessons when I was 16. At first, my brother and I had an agreement: I would warn him when I was about to practice, and he would go into his room, shut the door, and turn on his music. Loudly. I would go into my room, shut my door, and work hard at making a sound that was pleasant to listen to. It was a delightful day when my brother stopped trying to drown me out!

I fell in love with the violin during those last 2 years of high school. I found the sound more appealing than that of the piano (though I enjoy piano as well), and no matter how good I get there is always room for improvement, even on easy pieces. There are so many variables fitting together that allow a greater range of expression than I am able to get out of the piano. Leaving my violin teacher, an Iraqi who had lived in Jordan for many years and played first chair viola in the orchestra, was one of the hardest parts of graduating from high school.

Fortunately, Caltech had a chamber music program. Delores Bing, our director, took students who were fairly evenly matched in ability, even including me with my mere two years of experience, and combined us into ensembles. Of course the standard Caltech course load didn't leave me much time to practice, but it was enjoyable to put pieces together and perform them, even if we were still partly sightreading by concert day. Practicing was a great break from thinking about complicated science and math.

However, after college graduation, I kind of set the violin aside. Part of it was that my right arm was shattered in a car accident not long after graduation, though I did go back to playing piano as soon as I could. That wasn't weight bearing, though, and it was a full 2 months before I was allowed to pick up anything (certainly including a bow) with my right hand. I got out of the habit of practicing, and my poor violin sat neglected, except a brief phase in 2010-12 when I accompanied hymns in church each Sunday. But it was slightly damaged shortly before we moved to New York. There, we joined a church where it seemed everyone in our small group had perfect pitch or a master's degree in violin performance, so my instrument went back into the closet.

Then, we moved to Hawaii. I still hadn't had the violin repaired, and the case was still gathering dust, when I decided to join the ladies' chorus at our church. The piece we started working on had a violin part, and the director wistfully observed that it was a pity no one in our church played. "I can play," I offered, having seen that the part wasn't utterly beyond my ability. It would be fun to get back into practice. After that first rehearsal, Mrs. D came up to me. "You need to teach my grandson violin."

Wait! Teach? She'd never even heard me play! I hadn't touched the instrument in several years! She sensed my reluctance. "I've been praying for 2 years that God would send a violin teacher to our side of the island. Would $100 a month be okay?"

Okay, being told that you are the answer to someone's prayer is pretty hard to resist. I told her I'd try, though I wasn't sure I'd be worth what she offered. I got my violin repaired* and started getting back in practice. I even started accompanying hymns in church again. Mrs. D's granddaughter came along to her brother's first lesson, and I found myself with two students. I really didn't know what I was doing, but they and I both learned a lot by trial and error. It turns out Mrs. D was right - there is no other violin teacher on our side of the island - and I gained a few more students. I took a course on how to teach violin through Coursera, and started to learn the Suzuki repertoire myself through various online options. I have now discovered teaching techniques that result in my students sounding fairly good (that is to say, not painful) from day one, which might lead to fewer violins in attics in their future.

At this point, practicing violin is one of my favorite parts of the day. I'm no professional; I've been working on the Suzuki Book 4 repertoire for months (though I take occasional breaks for other pieces I like; I'm enjoying the Accolay concerto right now). But on the violin, even scales are interesting. Music theory (which is all math, this geek feels compelled to note) is so important to understanding how to arrange the fingers for perfect intonation, and every time I play a harmonic, the physics of it makes me unreasonably happy. Plus, that sound... Dear friends, I have no intention of letting my violin sit untouched again.

*An extra bonus tidbit on my violin's origin: when I had my violin repaired, the luthier told me that it was built in Germany. I had had no way of knowing that, because unlike with most violins, there is no label on the inside. However, the older relative who handed down the violin to my uncles would have been school aged in the years shortly after World War II. Norway probably didn't have much of a violin making industry in the late 1940s, but no self-respecting Norwegian would buy any object labeled as having been made in Germany. Thus, I imagine a German luthier supporting him or herself in the bombed out aftermath of total devastation by supplying unlabeled violins to the international market. Another fascinating facet of my violin's history!

U: Upside down

When we traveled to South Africa in 2008, Ari thought the moon was upside down. He spent a lot of time aligning his view of the moon with buildings, lamp posts, and other objects whose orientation was not in doubt, and photographing the moon as proof that, even though people don't walk on their heads in the Southern Hemisphere, the moon does.

I thought this was hilarious. To me, the moon wasn't upside down at all. It was just in its normal South African orientation, just like it would be in its different, but equally normal, Northern Hemisphere orientation when we returned to the United States.

Some things truly have an upside down and right side up orientation, independent of what you're used to. Nobody sees walking on your hands as normal, because we're all born subject to gravity with a body shape that makes walking on your feet much more natural. Someone walking on their hands is definitely upside down.

But the moon, and the sky in general, isn't really upside down in the Southern Hemisphere. If you were born and lived your whole life in the Southern Hemisphere, you'd probably perceive the moon as upside down the first time you saw it in the Northern Hemisphere.

There are other terms that depend a lot on the eye of the beholder. The main one that comes to mind for me is "overseas." Of course, where I am now, anyone who isn't in the City and County of Honolulu is over some amount of sea from me - even people elsewhere in my state are "overseas" in that sense. But in another sense, "overseas" is often used to mean "a foreign country." And when people say things like, "Were you born overseas?" I feel a little stab of rebellion. When I was born there, it wasn't foreign to me - I had yet to travel over any seas. I gave up my South African citizenship when I became a US citizen in 2012, but it still feels just as true to say that I live overseas now as to say I was born overseas then. It's an upside down word - it seems to depend at least partly on the eye of the beholder.

Are there any other upside down words, words that people around you use in one way but which make you think about something in a way that you know is quite different from how they are using it?

T: Tea

When I think of the various cultures that have influenced me, England doesn't come to mind very often. We traveled there several times while I was growing up, because my dad had some relatives there, but they were all of the "distant cousin" variety - I was much closer to my relatives in Norway. However, the one aspect of English culture that most English-speaking South Africans, including my family, retained was tea time.

Every afternoon when my dad came home from work, we would all stop what we were doing and gather for a cup of tea (or two) and some small baked goods. Dad would ask, "How was school today?" and I would say, "Fine." Eventually, Dad would greet me with, "How was school today fine?" Tea was a thoroughly civilized tradition, allowing us to discuss topics of interest like how Dad might navigate an interesting diplomatic situation or what I might do a required history report on.

When we were in South Africa and rooibos tea was readily accessible, Mom and I would have it while Dad and my brother stuck with their Earl Grey, looking down their noses at our "medicine". In fact, rooibos is so commonly used in South Africa that in a situation where an American might ask, "Tea or coffee?" a South African would ask, "Rooibos or regular?"

In college, I enjoyed using my teapot and kettle to offer hospitality to my friends when they dropped by my dorm room. Tea has the advantage that it requires almost no space to prepare. Ari and I drank tea together when he came to visit me while we were dating long distance, and we spent many long hours discussing life over a steaming mug. It's an ideal socializing medium for the cash-strapped student.

Our current family culture doesn't allow for a precise copy of my parents' teatime tradition, as Ari gets home from work immediately before dinner. Our large number of children also makes teatime something of a production, as the kettle needs to be boiled twice for everyone to get tea. But we do all enjoy tea together as part of our weekend breakfasts. Everyone has his or her own cup, and there are certain favorite flavors - including rooibos, which everyone likes.

A friend of mine, whose children take music lessons from me, enjoys having a cup of tea with me and socializing after the children's lessons are over. Now that we're doing lessons over Skype, we've still kept up our "tea time" - each making our own cuppa in our own house, but having a face to (on screen) face conversation together. Although it's not the same, it's a whole lot better than nothing. Tea tastes better when chatting with people I like.