Could that be Private (or Lieutenant) Auditor?

These days, I tend to look less like this...

So, I make no secret about a time when I used to be a Royal Canadian Army Cadet (rank of Master Bombadier - we were an artillery corps), and I make less of a secret about the way in which I semi-frequently consider joining the actual military as a Cadet Instructor Cadre member.

The thing that holds me back is actually that I never "aged out" as a cadet, but rather quit. Ostensibly, I did it to free up time - I usually say for schoolwork but anyone who knows my history and has seen my transcript would realize pretty quickly that I did it for the girl.

Because that quitting was preceded with shuffling from service branch to service branch trying to find something that was more freshly appealing, and because I've never managed to hold a job or go without an outburst of some kind for as long as our tours of duty last up here, I've hesitated.

If it was the CIC I joined, I'd only need to do a few weeks of training, and then I'd be moving on into a life of even less military activity than a reservist. And that has appeal. The cadet movement is a valuable social program and I wish I'd had greater participation in it as a kid, now that I've got no real social hangups and could have used the discipline and, let's be fair, prestige that comes with having served as an army cadet for the better part of a decade (cadets are allowed to be between the ages of 12 and 18).

And more like this scrub.

Just as often, I think about joining the actual military. The branch of service varies from time to time - I'm disqualified as a military pilot, but a life as ground crew in the Air Force interest me, as does the occasional stint in the Navy, which anyone who has seen me near water, read or written psychiatric reports, or had to spend a weekend with me will all pretty much agree is a terrible idea.

Having said all that, I used to set aside my ridiculousness to go to Summer Training Centres like Argonaut ACSTC. There was usually money involved when it came to that, though.

In the end, it's a wash, and I should really be packing instead of thinking.

If anyone's wondering what brought this on -  this article by Cam over at A Woman's Place seems relevant, if only tangentially. That's just how my brain works.

The Pulse of Tea

I've always been a believer that there's a natural rhythm to everything. Heisenburg's Uncertainty might add that lovely dose of randomness we call free will, but on the macroscopic scale, life moves in waves. Everywhere I go has a tide. A natural ebb and flow, resulting from everything from the pattern of traffic lights in the surrounding area, the socio-dynamic forcing of the weather outside, and the cultural make-up of the people around me. Being able to feel that push and pull is a boon when working in that environment. For one thing, it makes the temperament easier to control.

This seems to be doubly true in sales, and I'm not entirely sure why. A salesperson is at his or her best when he can feel the pulse of his shop, knows the personality of his product, and understands what the customer needs (and that's not always what they came into the shop looking for). The retail industry spends a lot of time calculating these things. It's the modern version of Feng Shui, and while I understand it with a sometimes-bitter cynicism, I realize that it works.

My problem is that I get caught up in the moment. The vagaries of the politics between the property managers and the retailers. The latest craze relevant to my store (pu-erh teas, thanks to Dr. Oz) and the shortages that follow when corporate can't predict (or the industry can't supply for) these crazes. In a month, few will still be drinking pu-erh, mind you. That's not the point. It's the shortages, the lack of this tea or that tin, and the conflict between following the instructions of my bosses and the instructions of those who can tell my bosses to close shop.

But if you get a moment, step outside the shifting tide, and just take a moment to watch it flow, suddenly it all makes sense. You find the pulse again, know your place within it, and relax.

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I want to share with you a particular tea that I've drank a lot of lately, and the class of tea to which it belongs. You've already heard me talk a little about oolong teas (sometimes wulong), which are fantastically mild little things that are great for your skin, teeth, hair, and metabolism, and are traditionally used in the practice of meditation (because their subtle tea gives you something to deconstruct, I suppose).

There is, however, a subclass of wulong which are smoked, and these are called the Dan Congs. These are smoked, as they are dried, and this adds both a certain level of boldness and extra layers of flavour to take the time to unwrap. Lately, I've been drinking the Phoenix Mountain Dan Cong at work (unfortunately, I don't have any at home). It is marvellously complex, getting moreso with age. The three minute steep time gives me time to breathe.

I could go on for ages about this particular tea. It comes from trees that are centuries old. Dan Congs from the Phoenix Mountain range in Yunnan were imperial tribute during the Song Dynasty. Teas which once graced the lips only of the Song Emperors and their favourites are now mine to dissassemble. Fantastic.