. . radio free anne . .

So….this is Maine. I mean, this is MAINE. Maine is supposed to be moose, and blueberries, and LL Bean and people who say “chowdah.”

It’s not really supposed to be drive-by shootings, but that is rather what seems to have occurred, just half a block down from where I am living. Last Wednesday. The funny thing is that I kind of didn’t even notice. I had to be told about it at dinner tonight by a new friend who said “you live there? did you hear the shots?”

The shots? Why, um, no. I didn’t. Apparently a very nice family was at home, just past 11pm, and someone ran by and shot bullets through their living room window. And they can’t imagine why anyone would do that and now they are moving. (Of course, I can’t help but feeling that someone in the house might just have a teeny, tiny sneaking suspicion why someone might want to shoot up their home, they might just not be telling the police about it. So I’m not particularly worried about getting caught in the crossfire myself.)

Since no one was hurt I’m allowing myself the opportunity to feel a little flippant about the whole thing – because I have to admit, my first thought was huge disappointment that I didn’t get to be a witness.  I’d be such a great witness.  I don’t want to witness anything really awful or traumatic, but a victim-less drive-by shooting would be PERFECT. I’d have near perfect recall for what the perp was wearing, and be able to tell the police which way he went, and it would be my savvy knack for detail that would wrap the case up nicely.

OHHH, and I’d get to testify. We shouldn’t forget that part.

There’s been a fad in the blogging world lately for listing the top 100 things you’d like to do before you die. I won’t bore anyone with my list, chiefly because I don’t have one, but if I did have a list then identifying a criminal on “America’s Most Wanted” would be right up there. When I lived in London I used to watch “Crimewatch UK” religiously. It came on once a month and I think it caught my imagination because in a little country like England the odds are pretty good that if you watch long enough you might actually be able to identify someone. As I came to the end of my years there my hopes started to dwindle and I got more and more disappointed that I’d never have a real reason to call the number on the bottom of the screen. My flatmate Robin was kind enough to volunteer that if it came right down to it I could call and turn him in if the crime wasn’t too terrible.

That right there? That’s friendship.

I miss him.

I had another cup of the herb tea this afternoon, though I didn’t use the cayenne mix – instead I tried another tea that I had bought at the same time – one that is a special herbal blend originally designed for cancer patients. It sounded so good in the shop that I had to ask if regular healthy people could drink it too. It has things like cranberry, hibiscus and lemon verbena in the ingredient list, along with more than one herb I can’t pronounce or identify, and is probably what accounts for the liberal sprinkling of twigs.

I scooped out my tea from the little package the herb woman sold me (technically what she sold me is a stash, and at one point was even referred to as a ‘toke – hmmmm), and I parceled it into the all organic non-bleached tea filter bag (made from abaca pulp, natch), and as I poured carefully filtered boiling water into my Maine-made pottery tea cup (natch), and got ready to put in a twirly thing amount of organic, non-pasteurized, non-filtered “Maine-made from Maine bees” honey, I suddenly thought, I got some kind of crunchy granola living goin’ on here. And me in my Vermont clogs, too.

I should mention that when I poured the boiling water over herbs, there was a rather alarming diffusion of red in my cup…like blood seeping from the tea bag. Very CSI, quite frankly, and I can only assume it’s from the cranberry herb? This tea is now quite shockingly red, though it tastes very sweet and delicious and so far hasn’t killed me, despite its color. I’m rather contemplating a second cup, actually.

No diet coke for me, thanks, I’m drinking bloody colored twig tea. Peace out, man.

(This whole story is undone by the $22 I spent earlier today to have my eyebrows waxed at Old Port’s fanciest salon, but just pretend I didn’t tell you that part. I may be getting hippier by the day, but bushy eyebrows is kind of a line.)

So my friend the herbalist called the other night and said, “hey, did you ever go get that tea????” And I replied, yes, I did, and it was yummy.

I also told her that she must come and visit because it’s her kind of place.

It needs a bigger sign, because it’s easy to miss, but once you find it there is a feeling that you stepped into a little sanctuary from the cold and icy world. It’s not big, but there’s a little bar, and little corners to sit in, and even a guitar if you want to play a bit, and there’s a cozy room off to the side with lots of pillows, and the whole point of the place is to drink herbal tea. But not just any herbal tea – herbal tea that is mixed just for you by the owner, who will customize a blend of herbs depending on what you need. It’s such an embodiment of serenity that I just want to package up the whole tea shop and put it in my pocket. And maybe ask the owner if she’d adopt me.

It feels like an apothecary shop, with drawers and old jars all filled with herbs, and big books about herbs when a consultation is needed. It’s got a lovely smell, and sitting at the bar it’s very easy to feel that maybe life isn’t so stressful after all. I first went with a new friend from school. She chose “find your focus” tea, while I told the owner that I didn’t know what I wanted, but could she do me a tea that would make me warm? Because I’m never warm. Ever. Crank up the heat, I’m coming to visit. The herb-expert owner made me a tea that she said would help my natural inner warmth radiate down to my toes and fingers. The ingredients included, among other things, cayenne pepper, which manifested as just a little tingle in the mouth after drinking.

That was two weeks ago, and yesterday I stopped in to buy some bulk tea, same custom blend, because I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I drank the first mug. So I bought some of that, and also some unbleached tea filters, and also a second kind of tea which sounded delicious. OH, and a jar of unfiltered, unpasteurized “Maine-made by Maine bees”, organic honey. With a wooden dowel thing that drips in the honey just right. I came straight home and put on the kettle and drank my tea all afternoon while I worked. I’m having another cup now, and while it’s probably just the steaming hot mug, my fingers are finally warm and I have high hopes for my toes.