Over Afternoon Tea

Tea is not only a drink but a ritual over which people have been relaxing, talking, and catching up on each other's lives for centuries. This blog is intended to serve as a virtual cup of tea, helping me keep in touch with friends and family in my physical absence.

I married the kind of man who will follow another man to the bathroom--the other man's own private bathroom--to finish a conversation about the fall of Rome.

It's great being married to a nerd.

The sincerest form of flattery is, after all, not imitation but attention.
I think this explains why many of my professors in college liked me. Particularly it explains why the ones I disliked/distrusted seemed to like me. The more uncomfortable I am the politer I get.
It does not, however, explain professors' amiability toward my husband, unless dozing is a form of paying attention. There I am still puzzled.

How to Get a Good Cuppa
Without spending more time or money

So you've heard me raving about tea for awhile now. Maybe you're starting to think there's something in it. But when I start discussing heading down to Cha Fahn to pick up some sakura or maybe some more iron-goddess-of-mercy-oolong, you raise an eyebrow. That's an extra trip, not to mention a bit pricey ($7 the ounce for that fantastic oolong). Also, you don't know how to pronounce sakura. (Neither do I, but it's never stopped me yet.)
So is it possible to get a decent cuppa without a lot of extra expense or trouble? The answer, of course, is yes, or I wouldn't be writing this. Here are a few tips for those interested in improving their brew but unwilling so far to commit to the bother of reading a whole book or brewing loose-leafs.

1) Stick with the classics. There's a good reason that breakfast blends, afternoon blends, Ceylon blends, Assam, Earl Grey and so on have been around forever. You should be as suspicious of a "mango-strawberry white tea" as you would be of a fruity-flavored wine or beer. If produced by a respectable company (like Twinings) they can make a nice iced tea but rarely (not never) do well hot. This is because newer flavors are usually "sprayed on" to inferior tea. Older flavorings have more natural methods of use; jasmine tea, for example, requires layering the tea with jasmine overnight to allow it to absorb the flavor.
2) Be brand-conscious. Price has almost nothing to do with it; fifty cents a box separates junk from excellent quality. Avoid Liptons and Celestial Seasonings. Tazo is hip and sometimes of decent quality but Twinings, which is less expensive, produces a much better brew (with the exception of Tazo's decaf lotus, which has a smooth, buttery flavor that helps make up for the inevitable decaf bitter). Stash, of course, is my favorite. Their teas are bright, smooth, and full-bodied. As a rule of thumb, the fancier the outside of the box, the worse the contents.
3) When you've obtained a decent tea, brew it properly.
Blacks should be brewed with boiling water. They rarely want to brew longer than three minutes, and never more than five (unless they're loose leaf) or they will develop a bitter flavor which will have to be drowned with milk and sugar. More delicate blacks, such as Darjeelings, may prefer shorter times.
With all but the most delicate green teas, you needn't watch the timer as carefully, but you must never use boiling water on a green. Allow the water to cool for approximately one minute before brewing. Greens generally prefer shorter brewing times. Most bag greens I've tried do well at about two or two and a half minutes.
4) Serve the tea as suits it. Very few teas are improved by sugar. Many, however, are suited by milk, particularly breakfast blends and Assams. Experiment to find out what you like. If you want to drink your tea with milk, buy a tea that will stand up to it. Milk does not go in most flavored teas.
4) Be very, very careful with white tea. It is currently a fad, which means that nearly everyone is doing it, and scarcely anyone is doing it well. Avoid any brands which exist solely to sell white tea. I currently do not know of a source for a respectable, bagged white tea. Republic of Tea is all right, but tends to brew a little bitter. If you are interested in white tea, I recommend trying Stash's Green and White Fusion, which produces a pleasant brew a little stronger than white. If you purchase a white tea flavored with anything heavier than jasmine, don't expect to be able to taste the tea, and don't say I didn't warn you.

Finally, a few hints on finding the right tea for you: here's a rough gradation of a few blacks.
Darjeeling is very light and delicate, even when it's strong;
Ceylon breakfast blends are mild and very pleasant;
English breakfast is stronger, often drunk with milk;
Irish breakfast or afternoon is bolder, usually drunk with milk;
Assam is bold, strong and malty; I drink it with plenty of milk;
Russian Caravan is dark and smoky, my husband's favorite black-coffee alternative.

My husband just put away the chocolate ice cream.
On top of the freezer.
For three hours.
I love men.

Mama's Spirit

They waited five years.
They were young and inexperienced and they hadn't much money. So they waited five years, and worked, and saved. They bought a car and a house. Finally she got pregnant, and they paid the money in advance to the hospital, because that was the way you did it, in those days, and then the insurance company paid you back.
At seven months she quit work. "You won't have any insurance, you know," they told her, and she said it was all right, they had insurance through her husband's job. She was glad to go home.
And then his company failed. He lost his job, and the baby was born. Two weeks later, baby was back in the hospital with pneumonia, and they had nothing. His parents wired money for her hospital bills.
He found work as a tree-trimmer, but winter is the rainy season in Texas. If he could've worked every day they'd be fine, but half the time he was home. He was still looking for something better. Her conscience ate at her, a gnawing dread. Finally she went to him.
"Do you want me to go back to work?"
There was a long pause. "Do you want to go back to work?"
"I'd almost rather give her up for adoption," she said, exaggerating like she often did when very upset.
"We'll find a way," he said.
He found a new job, and they never looked back.
Twenty-five years later, is it any wonder I chafe at my desk, wanting to be home with kids?

Surprise Inspection

The doorbell rang.
You wouldn't think that would cause much of a sensation. It's a small campus, true, and in an age of laziness and cell phones most of our friends do call before dropping by, but not always. Nobody, however, rings the doorbell. The one belonging to our upstairs neighbors doesn't work, and I got so out of the habit that I've never tried anybody else's. They, likewise, have never really tried mine.
Accordingly, I moved to the door with a cheery "Hey, the doorbell works!"
"Of course it works!" replied the priest as the door swung open. He stood outside in his petrahili and rasso, the foundational garments of an Orthodox priest, and his little monk's cap, holding a bowl, a cross, and some basil. Obviously, he had come to bless the house.
Given the fact that I had just returned from the service blessing the water that he was now planning to sprinkle us with, I wasn't as surprised as I might have been. After a moment of awkward surprise, my husband collected the music he'd used for the same service at another parish this morning. Father started sprinkling and we started singing. The apartment is small and it took only two rounds of "When You, o Lord, were baptized in the Jordan" before the blessing was finished. Then we got sprinkled and kissed his cross, and he headed for his next apartment.
When the door had closed behind him, I collapsed into giggles. My husband did a quick tour of the rooms to see if anything unsuitable for priest-monks had been left lying out, then came to hug me with a mild and amused relief. "It's fine. A mess, but fine."
I giggled some more. "Of all the idiotic things to say to the priest."
"Hmm?"
"The doorbell works."

How To Be a Boston Pedestrian
The Ultimate Guide to Fitting In On Foot In Boston

1. Wear black. Black is the preferred color at all times but it's absolutely mandatory after dark, and for crossing dimly-lit streets. (This rule works well for cyclists as well. And if you must have a light, make sure to hide it somewhere in the folds of your jacket.)
2. Sidewalks are for wimps. Make sure to walk in the road, on the street side of any parked cars. This is especially important if the road is curvy and dimly lit.
3. Never cross the street at a 90 degree angle to traffic. Then they would know for sure that you're trying to cross, for pity's sake! Meander out into the traffic at the most indeterminate angle possible, so that drivers are unsure whether you're following rule number 2 or actually crossing.
4. Walk into the street and...hesitate. Hold it there for as long as possible. Make sure you are just far enough into the street that the cars can see you (at the last minute) but not so far as to commit yourself to crossing now.
5. And finally, never, ever, use the crosswalk. If that's really the best place to cross, walk at least one or two feet to the left or right. Crosswalks are beneath your dignity.

Coming Soon: How to Be a Boston Driver

Two Reviews
or, Love and Hate

Saw the new version of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe that came out this last weekend. I went in with low expectations. I dislike the BBC versions and after what the last few years did to Tolkien I didn't expect much better--especially from Disney. I neglected to notice, however, that it helps to be making a children's book into a movie. There is about enough plot for the movie, without having heaps and gobs left over.
Further, somebody brilliant seems to have decided that if a book has been an enduring classic for the last 50 years or so, the themes, plot, and characters in the book can be relied upon to be as attractive on the screen as in the book, provided they are appropriately adapted to it. It is entirely unnecessary to misunderstand characters, alter plot, and make the whole thing more politically correct. (Just in case you're reading, Mr. P. Jackson, this means you.)
In short, they actually managed to get the feel of Narnia. I felt, once again, what a very great disappointment it is that I have never been. Sure, there were alterations (I had to bite my tongue when Father Christmas, giving weapons to Lucy, says they are only for self-defense, since "battles are ugly things" instead of "battles are ugly when women fight"--just leave the line out, at that point) but I felt most of them were in keeping with rendering the movie palatable to a modern audience without changing the meaning of it too much. There were one or two places, granted, where Aslan's status was undercut, and that troubled me most of anything; he was not mentioned to be the King of Narnia, that I recall, and certainly not the Son of the Emperor Over the Sea (who was left out altogether and the Deep Magic left to function as a sort of Natural Law). But while things were left out that could have been in, nothing was in that really should have been out. Literary audiences may safely be left to supply their own context without Disney getting itself into too much trouble with the PC-ers and leftists.
I hope it makes a mint and they make all seven.
And now for the hate. I managed to get through one and a half of Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series before pulling out my bookmark and giving up. The man is apparently unaware of the meaning of the word 'pace.' I've rarely met an author who can take a hundred pages to describe the events of five or six hours (during which perhaps four things important to the plot occur, items which I could summarize in two minutes, if that) AND STILL GETS READ by the populace at large. Why, I want to know, are people still reading these things? It's not like it's for improving your mind or education; we're not even talking Shakespeare here. This is supposed to be enjoyable?
And then there are his women. I could go on for pages, so I'll keep myself to two pertinent questions. 1) What branch of the harpy family does his wife hail from? 2) Why are all his men (and even his women) soooooooo slow to notice when an Aes Sedai is being evasive? Is that supposed to be subtle? I do better than that when my husband asks how my day was!
Ahem.
I am now reading Prince Caspian and swearing off all Robert Jordan. Just in time for New Year's resolutions. How convenient.

Things I am thankful for:
Being able to type without pain.

And if I still have to apologize for not blogging in forever, you are sick and twisted people.

Yesterday I met a very cute fellow named Jared, and flirted with him enormously.
It would have been considerably more egregious, of course, if my husband didn’t have about four feet and twenty years on him. Jared’s dad, stuck in a bind with mom out of town, brought him into the office for a few hours. At first, of course, he played shy, and hid his face in his dad’s pants leg, and wouldn’t talk to me. I was not discouraged. I found more excuses than ever to get to that end of the office that morning. I have never been so faithful about checking the faxes. I smiled and waved at him each time, and before long he was coming to the door of daddy’s office to smile coyly at me before ducking back inside to the safety of daddy’s desk.
Eventually he decided I was all right, although coming down to my end of the office was too scary. But I went down there and we ended up playing ball. I rolled and he kicked. He’s got pretty good aim for his two or three years. Better than mine. I wish I could make friends as easily with people my own age.
And I want one.