Tea and Finger Sandwiches (Fingers Not Included)

This post is more or less about food. Food blogging is popular, isn't it? It's one of those extremely fruitful blogging trends, much like the ever-popular fashion blogs. At least, that's what my peek at Bloglovin' has revealed. It's disheartening to see that the most blogs under "literature" have an average of three followers. That's where I am - huzzah! Representin' in the lit category, haha.

I can understand why food is so popular. I actually watch way too much of the Food Network. Whenever a competition or some behind-the-scenes food history show comes on, I just can't look away. It's so fascinating. It must be the joyful atmosphere that naturally comes when people flock together to enjoy a good ice cream sundae that is so attractive.

I've been drinking a lot of tea lately. We have way too many in the closet, so my mom's plan is to make giant glasses of them to stick in the fridge. She's even been combining different teas to make some rather pleasant concoctions. The last one was a raspberry and chamomile tea combo. Delicious.

This is very important. My top three favorite flavors of tea:

Cinnamon Plum

Almond

Strawberry

My mom and I had some cinnamon plum tea the other day. We sat together, drinking from our very plain blue mugs in silence. Well, she was. I was grading and staring longingly at my steaming cup. She had asked me what I was waiting for, and I merely shrugged and said, "Well, I might as well finish one more paper. It's probably still too hot for me."

"But it's been sitting there for fifteen minutes already."

"I can't drink hot stuff too well. I always burn my tongue," I said. I jabbed my finger in her direction. "It still surprises me that you can just drink it right away. It's way too hot. I bet you could drink fire if you wanted to."

And I strongly believe she could. I can picture her as a female Dustfinger from Funke's Inkheart, playing with fire like no one's business. I comfort myself my knowing that I can down very, very cold drinks with a lot more enthusiasm that she can.

I've been ruminating on tea. It's a beautiful type of drink, for many reasons. It prompts thoughtfulness and relaxation. I found some great quotes I wanted to share that capture that softer spirit:

The mere chink of cups and saucers tunes the mind to happy repose. ~George Gissing, The Private Papers of Henry Ryecrof

We had a kettle; we let it leak: Our not repairing made it worse. We haven't had any tea for a week... The bottom is out of the Universe. ~Rudyard Kipling

Never trust a man who, when left alone in a room with a tea cozy, doesn't try it on. ~Billy Connolly

You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me. ~C.S. Lewis

And, of course, where would we be without special cups to drink tea out of? There are so many, and it's hard to say which ones are the best. For no reason other than being proud to have the knowledge, I want to be able to memorize popular brands of tea cups like Wedgewood of Ginori (hahaha, not Corelle). I feel like the knowledge might come in handy someday. And how? Well, I don't know. But it's got to be exciting. Here are some cups I wish I had to drink my tea out of (from We Heart It, again):

Pretty, eh? And they have humor to them. I confess I don't have any fancy tea cups. I just have some plain mugs I grab from the cabinets. I just dunk a tea bag in water and heat it up in the microwave. Hardly romantic, but at least I admit it. And have to have sugar. A lot of it, haha.

What teas do you like? How do you enjoy it? I haven't had a tea party in a while, I could go for some chicken salad sandwiches on a croissant, or cucumbers with cream cheese. Yum! Sounds like a plan.

Publication News: Pure Francis

Oh hi! The weather's been awfully nice since the storm passed. The wind is cool and the sun is blazing; the usual duality. I've had a busy day full of smiles and handshakes and a lot of hamming it up; the reason is that the day has come when my flash fiction piece, "Polar Bear," has been published.

Check it out here!

Inspired by my black hole knowledge of folklore, a pinch of winter weather, and a strong love for apple cider, "Polar Bear" comes to you via the fantastic online literary magazine called Pure Francis. I'm happy that my piece has found a home there, and I recommend you read a few other pieces that have been printed (I quite enjoyed "Physicians' Ball" by Doug Lane and "Sunflower" by Chris Brown).

So I had to go out and celebrate this momentous occasion by doing something silly and, if I do say so myself, ham-tastic:

I'll have you know that my family and I wandered around with this button for half the day with no one commenting about it - an easy way to simmer down the ego, if you think about it. But, really, Disney cast members are only obligated to smile and wish people a happy birthday when they wear the "Happy Birthday" buttons. Oh. Nice to know the "I'm Celebrating" pin isn't worth much, haha!

I'm grinning as I'm sitting here, typing this post out, and feeling giddy and energetic. No amount of lesson planning can slow me down (I hope). I'm excited and glowing about this publication and I hope you enjoy it when you see it.

So after reading my story, I have one question to ask you (accompanied by inspiring images found on We Heart It):

Which bear do you prefer: the white bear or the brown bear?

The Eye of the Storm or "Her Morning Elegance"

I can't believe there's a tornado warning right now. As much as the Weather Channel keeps alarming us about it (and, of course the tell-tale warning beeps), I find it hard to believe. Surreal, almost. I'd sooner believe that a unicorn has been eating the flowers in the backyard. Well, I'm being stubborn. One thing Florida's not famous for is having tornadoes.

I've never experienced a tornado. It would actually be nice, if I ever got caught in one, to be transported to a different world like Dorothy (however, I really, really don't want to go to Oz). I'm tucking some graded papers back into my bag for tomorrow and wondering if they'll go flying into the atmosphere in a matter of hours. Probably not. But getting such a rare warning makes people nervous.

Only minutes ago, my mother talked about how she heard from a friend that you should put all your valuables in the dishwasher so that they don't get destroyed. Apparently, it's like hiding out in a time capsule. Or something.

Tornadoes have eyes. In the eye of the storm, there is nothing but peace. I'm trying to find that mental state as I listen to my parents flit around the house in a frenzy. So here it is for me, in a nice package: Oren Lavie. His voice is calming, the lyrics magical. His crooning puts a smile on my face and keeps my brain from nervously shaking. Please enjoy, and I'll see you all when the storm passes!

Escape Route

After two weeks of being back at school, I was chomping at the bit to go to Disney. I was doing well for a while, seeing my grad buddies again and plotting with them to sneak off during the day to a certain delicious French cafe. I greedily ate up the first two books of The Mysterious Benedict Society and found a new character to gush annoyingly about (Milligan, you're the man!).

Milligan, the man. You have no idea.

But even in spite of this, a familiar weariness set into my bones as I stayed awake for the fourth night in a row working on PowerPoints and lesson plans for my pupils. It's a tired ache that's stronger than any you'd feel on the fifth week of slaving over a research paper - trust me. It makes you long for some kind of escape; usually a quick trip into my head rectifies the situation, but when you're going to school to put your creative thoughts on paper, the imagination does not have the same magic it always used to. So real life has to come to the rescue.

Real life is Disney (Oh, haha. That's good).

Disney's Boardwalk was the exact place I had in mind ease my agitated spirits. A wild wind travels off the water that whips your hair until you run inside the stores, only to find yourself looking like a Wishnik troll. An abandoned night club that advertises dueling pianos looks rather lonely, but there's always a family kicking along by in a four-passenger Surrey bike. There's a tiny pearl shack, a lighthouse, and oh! Did I mention the shops? Only briefly. While you're furiously combing your hair back down, you might find some treasures not yet sent to the Disney Parks. This happened to me once in a glorious way. I found a t-shirt with Prince Phillip on it, and he had his arms crossed and looking proud. The shirt said, "Sorry ladies, I'm taken." How cool is that? I would have bought it immediately, except that I'm a girl (haha). The decorations in the shops are intricate and lovely. The last time I went, I noticed a painting or a carousel (and a literal carousel horse in one of the front windows) and a vintage illustration of hot air balloons. Wow.

The family and I spent most of the day exploring the hotels littered around the Boardwalk. One of my favorite things to do is wander around Disney hotels and just hang out there, sitting on the comfy couches or exploring the little shops and eateries inside. And if there's a theme to the hotel - ohmygosh. Then that's even better. I won't go into the specifics in this post, but the range of decorations spanned from vintage nautical to high-end Las Vegas style. We explored four of the hotels and waddled back on sore feet to the bakery for a bite and a good sit-down. I carried a giant (really) strawberry cupcake out to red high top table overlooking the water.

As we ate our respected desserts, I looked around me and enjoyed being still. The wind played with my bangs and threatened to make me swallow my own hair as the strands got caught in fluffy icing and red sprinkles. We were right by the ESPN Zone, complete with an ever-present line of men waiting to go inside; they clapped and cheered and stood on their toes as if celebrities were only just waiting for them inside the door. A woman sat at a table nearby (probably the wife of one of these men) with a stack of magazines and a novel. She glared at the seagull that continued to insist on occupying the table space. I grinned at the bird but forgot to offer him something.

The birds started to gather. Sparrows danced below our feet like tiny dancers on stage. Seagulls clung to the railing and surveyed the scene with proud eyes. One seagull had a feather stuck to his beak. He lowly approached our table and just stared up at me. Not begging, really, but trying to threaten me. But by then the cupcake was gone. Normally considerate of such things, I didn't drop any crumbs for the sparrows or seagulls. My parents were thankful about this, but they still teased me later on. "Yeah, why didn't you?" My mom said. "Didn't we teach you any manners?" I merely grumbled and tickled her sides. Revenge. Haha.

I breathed deeply, closed my eyes. I couldn't feel that ache anymore. It was as if someone stripped that heaviness off my bones so that I could float freely into the sky. I felt so happy. I wanted to sit at that table for another few hours. Maybe buy another cupcake but share all of it. I wanted to stay as far away from the computer and PowerPoint as I could.

But we all must return eventually. And I had to admit, as we got in the car to drive home, that I did feel refreshed enough to try again.

Possibility

Young Sally: " He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards."

Young Gillian: "What are you doing?"

Young Sally: "Summoning up a true love spell. called Amas Veritas. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvelously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he'll have one green eye and one blue."

Young Gillian: "I thought you never wanted to fall in love."

Young Sally: "That's the point. The guy I dreamed of doesn't exist. And if he doesn't exist, I'll never die of a broken heart."

- Practical Magic

After returning to school, there are some things I can’t help but think about. It must be the dense atmosphere of young adults scurrying from building to building with textbooks and bicycles. I can see trails in the grass where students made their own paths to beat the evil threat of tardiness. Yes, even in college. And then sometimes you pass the couple happily strolling along with their hands entwined like they were dolls – their fingers sewn together as they slept in plastic cocoons inside the box. You can’t help but murmur, “Well, wow. How’s that going to feel when it’s my turn?”

You can both cast a dreamy grin and adjust your bag strap, looking up the sky and wiggling your fingers as if someone was touching them back. Or you could pout and wish that Ben & Jerry’s was in your immediate, general direction.

I actually wrote something concerning this (or maybe echoing it) in one of the online novels I’m writing. Here is a full chapter from my serial novel, Birdcage Girl, where my main character Ashlyn faces her own desires head on. The chapter is called “The Prince List.”

At the age of ten, Ashlyn decided she had five qualities she expected for any man who would become her husband. She sat on her knees inside the birdcage and flattened a piece of her mother’s sketch paper. Her little face screwed up in concentration as she slowly dragged out the list with a salmon-colored crayon:

1. I have to be able to hear him approaching.

2. He should have one crooked pinky.

3. He can make homemade marshmallows.

4. He can't sing better than me, but he can play the piano from memory.

5. He must like birds.

She saved it in her scrap drawer. Over the years it got buried under other lists and other doodles. But Ashlyn still remembers it. She figures that one day, when she unearths it, she’ll either:

1. Laugh at the absurdity of the list.

2. Wonder how her ten-year-old self knew.

Before Figment decided to limit the genre boxes (ah, another kind of list), I had Birdcage Girl ticked off as a romance. And it is. It just hasn't happened yet. Ashlyn has a lot of other things on her mind than finding a boyfriend, certainly, but it doesn't mean she’s not thinking about it. Those gauzy thoughts flutter in her head – way in the back, where they’re practically abandoned. But they are there. And I can say, with every assurance, that someone will step up soon to draw that fragile gauze out and into the light.

Like Ashlyn, I’m sure there has been a time in everyone’s life where we’ve made such a list (though right now I’ll speak specifically to the girls).

You’ve heard they’re bad for you. You watch these lists burn on television in fire pits or just with the flick of a lighter’s delicate tongue.

But there’s something more to them, or to any action involving dreaming up that wonderful person.

Whether you hope your significant other has webbed feet or can make a good ham sandwich, I think it’s important to have fun with these thoughts. Don’t carry the list around with you in your purse, taking it out whenever you see a cute guy in line at the coffee shop or while waiting for your car to be repaired. Rolling it up in a tube and using it as a spyglass is much more useful than meticulously checking off the boxes.

For anyone still wanting for that special someone to walk in the door… well, there are ways to make the interval easier: