This morning, shortly after the Tucson sun stretched its groggy arms and rolled over the Catalina Mountains, Tony lumbered up the front steps of Maya Tea. Tony is our operations manager, and is habitually one of the first people in the office. He arrives second only to Angie, the woman who helps to blend and package our teas. Angie is the oldest employee of Maya Tea, in both years of employment and years of life. She has recently begun to exhibit some of those moments of forgetfulness and dissociation that we credit to seniors. (We all have them, of course, but seniors have an excuse.)
Every morning Angie rises early, takes down a mug of coffee and walks a brisk half-mile to the office. She begins her daily tasks just as dawn breaks, and greets Tony about an hour later at the front door. This morning, however, was a little different. Tony reached the security door and found it still locked tight—Angie hadn’t heard him pull up in his diesel truck. He rapped on the metal screen, which echoed his force with a tinny hum. Then came Angie’s voice from the other side—but instead of her usual “I’m coming, I’m coming…” came these words: Go away.
“I’m going to call the police.”
Tony pounded metal in irritation.
“Go away I said, or I’m going to call the police.”
“Angie, it’s me. It’s Tony. Open up.” A few moments of silence passed, and then the padlock shifted. The screen door creaked open and Tony’s look of credulity met one of sheepish surprise.
“I didn’t recognize you…” Angie stammered, turning back to her packages of tea. Tony stood there for a moment before he began to laugh. “How about now,” he asked. “Do you recognize me now?”
The two of them were still bantering when I settled into my office chair, four and a half hours later. Tony teased, “Angie, do you know who I am?” and she would mumble something in good humor as she weighed and sealed bags of iced tea. When I asked what was going on, Tony turned to me, laughing, and said “Oh, Angie was having a senior moment this morning.”At the time I was trying to think of what I should write about for today’s blog. Amidst all the office comedy the words senior moment stuck in the sides of my mind somewhere. I thought to myself: maybe Angie could avoid these moments if she drank a cup of our Brain Elixir tea instead of coffee in the morning. She wouldn’t be so jumpy, anyway. Perhaps Tony wouldn’t have had to identify himself, or even knock twice—his image would have registered with Angie’s memories of opening that front door five days a week for the last several years. Her logic wouldn’t have required a helping hand, as the ginko biloba, gotu kola, tulsi, and white sage present in Brain Elixir are proven to support good memory functions and encourage clear and focused thinking.
Angie granted me her permission to use this morning’s events as a gateway for my blog, bless her heart. But the truth is, I didn’t need Angie. We all have moments like these, when our logic fails us. When we forget. When our normal processing slows. I am no different. I too start every morning with a cup of coffee to battle the weights that pull my eyelids towards the ground and drag my brain into the mud. I too could benefit from switching up my drinking habits—caffeine isn’t everything. (I can’t believe I just said that.) And I too have specific events in my life that I could have catered to a blog about brain functioning—after all, I am a student. I have midterms coming up. Next week, I will be spending four hours frantically writing concise thoughts about eighteenth century British and American literature. So why did it take Angie to spark this idea?
Perhaps, like most healthful habits, we think of things too late. I could be supporting my brain now, in my twenties, in my classroom years, but despite my own needs it took this “senior moment” to get me thinking about thinking. No, I didn’t need Angie. When it comes down to it, any of us could use a little brain-boost. Any of us could have been the subject of this blog. But Angie’s story was the most fun. ;)
Comments will be approved before showing up.
The first time I tried chai was in the kitchen of my parent’s house, and served by my younger sister. “You have to taste this—” she insisted, pushing a mug across the countertop to me. She refused to elaborate on its contents. The flavors, she said, would speak for themselves.
The quality of water affects the taste of your tea; this is beyond dispute. The relative quantities of mineral salts, oxygen and trace elements determine the relative "liveliness" or "flatness" of a particular cup. To that simple substance we add the basic flavor of the leaf itself or an herbal substitute.