A Tea Reader (13 page)

A Valuable Moment of Life

BY
K
ATE
F
INNEGAN

Tea Ceremony with Mr. Kaji Aso

When I was studying fine arts at Tufts University and the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston in the late 1970s, my professor was Mr. Kaji Aso. After I graduated in 1980 I began taking classes at his studio in Boston. Soon I discovered that Mr. Aso held Japanese tea ceremony every Sunday afternoon at the studio and I made a reservation to attend tea.

Kaji Aso Studio is located in a brownstone townhouse near Symphony Hall and, back then, tea ceremony was held in the art gallery. (Later, in 1987, Mr. Aso extended the studio by building a tea house and, in 1997, a tea garden). I had attended exhibitions, concerts, and poetry readings in the delightful gallery and was surprised on the day of tea ceremony to find the space magically transformed into a Japanese setting. An entrance screen shielded the doorway and
tatami
mats were carefully laid out on the floor. Hanging nearby was an art piece: a calligraphy character in which the black ink flowed on the page, thick to thin, dark to light, each stroke demonstrating flowing direction and movement. Later I would learn this character meant “dance” in Japanese. Just below this was an earthen-colored vase in which leaves with the first splashes of autumn colors were arranged.

Mr. Aso was sitting
seiza
(on his knees) in a steel-blue-colored kimono of fine material and, as always, there was an ambiance of calmness and focused positive energy emanating from him. A group of six people entered and sat across from each other on the
tatami
mats. There was a subtle scent of incense and an ancient kettle that made a pleasant sound. Mr. Aso placed a lacquer plate in front of him that held a ceramic bowl and other mysterious tea implements.

He bowed and said, “Good afternoon and welcome to tea.”

We all bowed back and said, “Good afternoon.”

In that moment and every moment that followed I was transported from my everyday world to a place of
exquisite
.

We were perfectly quiet as the tea assistant passed a small plate of sweets around so we could each take one. As we enjoyed the delicate taste, Mr. Aso began to prepare tea. His movements were mesmerizing—flowing and stopping and flowing again. They intertwined with other sounds and sights—the steam rising from the kettle, the tap of the bamboo spoon on the ceramic bowl, the scooping and pouring of water, the blur of the whisk followed by the smell of green tea, something akin to spring.

Mr. Aso picked up the tea bowl and turned it carefully: once... twice...a little more. He paused with a slight bow and then placed the tea bowl down. His assistant passed it to the first guest.

I watched as the guest bowed, carefully picked up the bowl, turned it and then took a sip. A satisfied smile came over her face. “Delicious,” she said and she took two more sips. Then she took her napkin and wiped the bowl where her lips had touched and turned it back before setting it down for the next guest.

I was the third guest in line and when the bowl reached me I saw clearly for the first time the emerald green—so very green! The whisked up foam was like a shimmering green sea. I tried to imitate the movements I had seen the other guests do. Mr. Aso talked me through them. When I picked the bowl up, there was a painting of a crane facing me. I enjoyed the painting a moment and Mr. Aso said that I should not touch my lips to the painting, but turn the bowl two and a half times to the back and drink from there.

My first sip of tea was so different from anything I ever had. The smooth, rich, slightly bitter and fresh taste mingled with the lingering taste of the sweets in an enjoyable way.

“Delicious!” I said.

“Please finish it,” Mr. Aso replied. “One bowl is for three people.”

He mentioned that it was all right to make a sound on the last sip because the foam is the most delicious part. I slurped the last bit of tea and everyone smiled. Carefully I wiped the bowl where I drank, returned it back to the crane painting and placed it down. I said, “Thank you,” and passed the bowl back to Mr. Aso. He carefully washed it and began preparing a second bowl for the remaining guests with the same consistent intent and focus. Nothing was rushed. Every movement mattered.

After everyone had tea, we had conversation. Mr. Aso passed the bowl and utensils around for closer viewing. We enjoyed the feel of the lacquer tea caddie, the sight of bright green tea powder, the intricacy of the bamboo whisk. Mr. Aso explained the crane bowl was from Korea from the Li Dynasty, fifteenth century. He said that many beautiful ceramics, as well as Buddhism, came to Japan through Korea.

When we were done, Mr. Aso put everything back and asked us to have a short meditation. We sat quietly and at the end he bowed and thanked us for coming. We bowed in return. At that moment I felt utterly calm and peaceful.

Mr. Aso encouraged the new guests to come again to tea. He said that the first time we are nervous and not sure what to do and the next time we would be more comfortable and discover another level of tea.

I did come back again and again and tea ceremony has become a lifelong pursuit. One tea has become a thousand teas, each one unique, specific to that day, that moment, and that group of people. All come with a desire to share a valuable moment of life, some more deeply calm and connected than others, but always reaching a moment of serenity.

Mr. Aso often presented a haiku poem at tea. He said that haiku and tea ceremony are very much related because each focuses on a moment. An eighteenth-century poet named Buson wrote one haiku in particular that Mr. Aso said expressed the essence of tea.

Kagiri aru
inochi no himaya
aki no kure

Life is short
Autumn evening is shorter than life
Yet there is a moment of luxury

Tea ceremony is the place for people to come together to enjoy tea, absorb the beauty of the world around them and share a complete moment of peace. With each tea I discover something new and valuable that stays in my heart and grows.

Mr. Kaji Aso had various experiences of tea ceremony school in Japan. He sought the most original and ancient form of tea ceremony to discover the true enjoyment of tea and true enjoyment of friendship through sharing a sip of tea. This vision of tea provides a wide understanding of life and nature.

Tea at 77 Guthrie Avenue

BY
D
EBBRA
S
UMMERS

A china tea cup perched on a matching saucer waits for me at my place at the table. Real china dishes are everyday dishes here. Mismatched teaspoons stand face up at the ready in a cut glass spooner.
¹
Real silver spoons are polished and patient. A robin's egg-blue ceramic teapot is a perfect match with the glossy painted kitchen cupboards. Only the spout and handle are visible, poking out from under the insulated armor of tea-stained felt cloth and aluminum, as the tea steeps. It won't steep too long, otherwise it will be bitter and “fit only for the African violets to drink.”

“One lump or two?” she asks me.

A tiny rectangular tray holds a small lidded dish of sugar cubes. “Flies like sugar too,” she reminds me. There is just enough room on the tray for the made-for-two-cups milk pitcher, full and cold from the refrigerator. The milk is always poured in the cup first. This was something done during the Depression by those well off enough that they didn't need to worry about things like how much of this precious commodity they used. “They could use as much as they wanted. None of this ‘just enough to lighten their tea' baloney. They did it then. We're doing it now.” I still do it today.

A plate of tiny crustless triangles of egg salad sandwiches covered with clingy plastic wrap is taken out of the fridge at the last moment. “You can't be too careful with mayonnaise.” The egg has been mixed with just the right amount of green onion from the garden and lots of black pepper and spread on low-calorie
Hollywood
bread. Mixed pickles with white baby onions and yellow cauliflower pieces are served; there are never enough of those. An oval ice-water-filled crystal dish offers radishes cut like lily pad flowers, curled carrot slivers and celery sticks.

A well-loved—“It sounds better than ‘old'”—starched tablecloth, red, blue and yellow with fruit and flowers at each corner, is too long for the gray marbled Formica and chrome kitchen table. I have to pay extra special attention when I climb up onto my chair to make sure that everything on the table doesn't end up there with me. The vinyl upholstered chairs match the table perfectly. The tablecloth's homemade patches are hidden by our placemats, although you wouldn't notice them unless you knew they were there. “And that's what matters,” I'm told. One of the long sides of the table is pushed right up against the ledge of the painted sash window between the kitchen and the back porch. From every seat at the table you can see the green velvet lawn in the backyard, beyond the two pine trees where Puddles the dog is buried, all the way back to the vegetable patch.

The salt and pepper shakers—today's choice from a collection of over 100 pairs—are the pale pink pigs with red china rosebuds tucked behind their ears and black, hand-painted snowflake eyes. A chipped juice glass shows off fragrant lillies-of-the-valley from the garden next to the gravel driveway. “A thing is always useful for something.” A cheerful lemon yellow plastic teapot-motif napkin holder stuffed with white embossed napkins is the last piece to claim its place at the table.

It is twelve o'clock noon, exactly. The cuckoo clock just said so. It has been a very long day already. We have been up since 6 o'clock. After a breakfast of red grapefruit halves—sprinkled with sugar, dotted in the middle with a whole maraschino cherry, and left in the refrigerator to soak up the sweetness overnight, a bowl of Special K cereal, and tea, we “got right to it.” Dishes first. I dry because the washer has to wear the yellow Playtex gloves and they don't fit me. The water, as hot as our tea, with a splash of vinegar—“It makes the dishes squeaky clean”—fills the second sink where the dishes are rinsed before they make their way into the drying rack. This makes my job easy. The dishes are almost dry by the time they get to me. Chores never seem like work here. Last night's white cotton bedding is fighting the wind's persistent attempts to wrap it around the pulley clothesline. I had done my part, helping the pillow cases and sheets through the rollers of the wringer washer. Then, “Do you think you can stand still long enough?” she asked as I balanced on the top step of the back stoop holding one end of each sheet, slowly letting it go as she pinned it on the line. We are done in no time. “Many hands make light work.” She wipes her hands on her apron with the satisfaction of a job well done. “There. They shouldn't take long to dry today.”

Back inside, strawberry-red rhubarb stalks, picked earlier from the patch behind the garage, stew in a copper-bottomed pot over a short blue flame on one of the back burners of the small gas stove. It will be dessert; warm and tart over a scoop of French Vanilla ice cream.

The delicious smell of early summer meets my nose. “Mmmmm. Can we have dessert first?”

It is the perfect time for tea. We are hungry. “That's the best time to eat,” she announces.

“One lump or two?” she asks again.

I think about it for a minute.

“One” I say.

“One it is...Not that you need any,” she says, with a bear hug from behind and a kiss on my cheek. “You're sweet enough.” She smells like Noxzema cream and her house. I breathe her in.

Two long, tissue-paper-skin fingers pluck one of the sweet white cubes from the dish. There is no chance that any germ would dare remain after the scrubbing those hands just had. Plop, splash, fizzle; the sugar gets busy sweetening my tea.

I took sugar in my tea only when I was there with her. Even today, I still don't take sugar in my tea. Neither my Gran nor 77 Guthrie Avenue remain, but when I need a hug, just a few grains in my cup takes me back to that kitchen table.

1
A “spooner” was part of a four-piece breakfast set that also included a creamer, sugar bowl, and butter dish. It held the spoons, which were the most-used utensils, and stayed in the center of the table.