Clam Shells are for Clams
On August 11, 2019 by Speranza
An artist friend of mine who never had a great deal of money always used to say that no matter what, he always made sure that his soap and tea were of the best quality that he could afford since they were among his few luxuries and would be used daily. I have never forgotten this sentiment since it struck a chord with my own measured, Capricornian (but not completely stoic) sensibilities.
A few Christmases ago, Frasier spoiled me by presenting me with loose-leaf Vanilla tea made with Assam tea leaves. The whole ritual and build-up to the tea drinking itself is an exotic event and the scent when the boiling water plummets through those leaves is ambrosial, amber, vanilla steamed heaven in a (porcelain) cup. I now find that it is the only tea that I really enjoy and will squinge in many other ways in order to purchase. (The tea is not being flown in by leer jet by the way, just a lot more expensive than my traditional Tetley’s. I am also haunted by a sneering tea sommelier who once told me in a special voice that tea bags were made from the sweepings off the floor and did I know that?)
Joy of Text
On August 4, 2019 by Speranza
Like a fool, I believed that if I survived my sons’ teen years I would be assured of a (relatively) worry-free life which I might congratulate myself for later and bask in the afterglow of getting something right.
I now know this basking-thing will never happen.
There is not going to be a time when I do not worry.
Like other hip parents, as I foam quietly at the mouth with anxiety I have become the master of the mock-casual 3 am text:
ME: Hey, what’s up? Haven’t heard from you in a bit.
SON 1 or 2 (eventually, often days later) Right? How are you?
Which as any savvy parent knows is one of those generated, easily spotted responses (intended for those who are just way TOO busy to think of a word) and conveys slightly less than nothing.
Make Mine a Troll
On May 29, 2019 by Speranza
Anyone who knows me well has heard about my devotion to “Trolls” (aka “Gonks” in the UK) the popular, hi-liter haired dolls that were very popular in the sixties. While other girls were collecting the newest Barbie, it’s probably quite telling in some weird psychological way that I was never impressed or even remotely interested in regular dolls and instead much preferred my growing tribe of Trolls. Each one had a different hair colour, including two with striking, snow-white tresses whom I presumed to be elderly and accordingly named Martha and Frank. I saved diligently to increase my collection whenever possible and expanded to include the tiny Trolls sold as pencil toppers or key-chain danglers although their hair was never the same caliber as the larger ones and would routinely tear off in one piece, like a bright conical flame with a stiff headband of adhesive.
This was always a sad moment because a bald Troll is suddenly a bit too close to a perverted uncle for anyone’s liking.
Nine to Five No More
On May 28, 2019 by Speranza
It’s been almost two months to the day since I cleared out my desk and began my (super early) retirement. I have purposefully not shared this information here because it is has been such a churning and peculiar adjustment, full of highs and lows, more than a few bracing 3 am walks around the hardwood floors but mostly, because I fear being judged as old and irrelevant, there I said it.