Since I was a child, I’ve found great enjoyment in receiving mail. Tempered slightly over the years by the constant onslaught of junk mail and bills, I still none the less find a sly grin on my face when I realize the postman has brought a personal note from a distant friend. Lately, the absence of arriving parcels has been more anticipated than those from my favorite wine shop, Madwine.com. Perhaps there is nothing greater in this world than opening a box only to discover it contains wine, thank you Jesus!
But this rant stems from the arrival of my most recent shipment. As always my shipment arrived in a timely manner, inside was the case of Kestral Lady in Red wine, the 1st Holiday addition. (I intend on cellaring the wine until next season, where I suspect it will be a fan favorite and perhaps even an Ebay hit.) I had hoped that I might enjoy the in-box holiday chocolates Madwine ships this time of year, but I opened the box to find that there was none. Knowing the holidays were over I was un-phased and proceeded to cellar my cherished new collection of wine. It wasn’t until I heard from a friend that I became disturbed.
Apparently, a pal of mine who also received a package from Madwine was luckier than I. Contained within his package was a sample of, what he described, superb gourmet tea. The sample was labeled Green Goddess, named for Guanyin, the Buddhist goddess of compassion. Apparently this tea is currently China's most popular oolong. In contrast to its sister tea 'Iron Goddess', this tea is remarkably floral and produces a stunning, rich aroma reminiscent of tropical flowers. Needless to say I wanted to sample this tea for myself.
Normally, I simply would have been happy for my friend, but I stumbled across a site that left doubts in my head. Surely my rational mind knows that the government had no reason to open my package prior to delivery and even if they did there is little reason to believe that they might remove a sample of gourmet tea meant for me. Yet the possibility that the opportunity even existed somehow penetrated deep into my psyche; just one more thing to diminish that childhood wonderment of the meaning of personal mail.
