I like tea in my tea.

I enjoyed a lovely visit today from Grace. She's working on an independent project on fashion - writing and designing a book - for her high school senior project, and she came to interview me. In general the more questions someone asks, the more circular and flighty and rambly I get so I hope I made sense. And need I mention, everything about her outfit was amazing.

She made me choose the one piece of clothing I would take to an island ... that was tough. I had to pass and come back to it at the end. But I picked my Grandpa Bartlett's overalls. He was a farmer and I never saw him wear anything else. I inherited them a few decades after he died. They were hand-patched by him and for a few years they were my uniform, with a rotating cast of things layered over and under. If I could someday be one sixteenth as calm and thorough and thoughtful as he was I'll be doing alright. Plus he could scrape gravy out of a bowl so well that you could probably just put the bowl back in the cupboard when he was done. When I was about 13 and feeling adult for having tea with him in his farmhouse dining room, I scooped sugar and dumped milk into mine then asked him if he wanted some. "Nope" he said firmly. "I like tea in my tea."

In other news, that building I'm having knocked down is almost out of my way.