Teabags

I was thinking about teabags the other day. 

I love the fact that my colleagues ordered some English Breakfast teabags when they found out an English girl would be working with them. This is one area where I certainly live up to the stereotype, as I think I've mentioned before. 

I can't say that the aroma of an English Breakfast teabag is particularly alluring. Let's face it, it's a little bag stuffed with dry leaves that smells like compost. But the sight of one in a cup of hot water is something that relaxes me. In it's tiny teabag voice, it tells me that there is time to take a breather, there is time to chat.

Having a cup of tea reminds me of my mum. Of coming home from school, sitting at the kitchen table and, without having to ask, watching her flip the switch on the kettle and warm the teapot. You ALWAYS have to warm the teapot. 

Having a cup of tea reminds me of my dad. Of waking up on a Saturday morning to the sound of teacups clinking on a tray as he brings his girls a morning brew in bed. My dad has a tremor. It's part of his charm, and the clinking of teacups was the background music to my childhood weekends.  

There is no problem that cannot be fixed over a cup of tea.

That may sound terribly British, but it's true. If you like tea, of course. Otherwise, it could be a torturous experience. 

Watching the tea seep from a teabag and turn the water an earthy brown is like watching my problems bleed out. The warmth of the cup in my hand, the sight of a knitted teacosy (preferably a chicken-shaped one), the click or whistle of a kettle; it's all so steeped in relationships and talking and 'taking a moment'. 

For me, a cup of coffee is for the office, for a busy, 'get me through' day. 

A cup of tea is for the home, for a 'put your feet up and tell me about it' day. 



Recent read: 

All children, except one, grow up...

I have rediscovered the magic of Peter Pan by J.M Barrie. For those of you that haven't read the book, I would highly recommend it. This was my second read, and I enjoyed it just as much. He captures the essence of play and childhood with timeless humour and a certain amount of darkness that is so familiar in traditional children's stories. 

I found a great copy (Peter Pan: The Complete Adventures) on Nook (only $0.99!!!), with all three Peter Pan stories that Barrie wrote, not just the one we know and love:

• Peter Pan (also known as Peter and Wendy) [1911]* Includes original illustrations by F. D. Bedford
• Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1906]* Includes original illustrations by Arthur Rackham
• The Little White Bird [1902]

An puny plug: 

As a budding writer, I have been researching and experimenting with online eBook publishing via Kindle Direct. I would recommend this outlet, just because it makes the process so easy. I am also experimenting with their print publication sight, createspace. 

My first small project is a collection of poetry, The Patchwork Lady, that is now available as an eBook for pre-order on Amazon, with a publication date of 11th October. A print version will also be available in the next month or so. 

The eBook is $0.99 (77p in the UK), so if poetry is your thing, or it isn't and you're just feeling nice, why don't you purchase a copy or twenty? (*smiley face*) 

I have many more projects for self-publication on the back burner, and I'm excited to get my writing out there. I'll keep you posted with future work. Thank you so much for your support!

Here is a link to the Amazon.com page: http://www.amazon.com/Patchwork-Lady-life-poetry-ebook/dp/B00NMOYQ1A/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1411478189&sr=8-8&keywords=the+patchwork+lady

Here is a link to the Amazon.co.uk site: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Patchwork-Lady-life-poetry-ebook/dp/B00NMOYQ1A/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1411478238&sr=8-1&keywords=the+patchwork+lady

The Patchwork Lady is also available in various other countries via their specific amazon web addresses.  

Also, here is a link to my author page on Amazon. It's a great way of keeping track of my work available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Rosemary-High/e/B00NSVPHA6/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_8?qid=1411478436&sr=8-8 

A Weekend of Firsts

This past weekend was a weekend of firsts. Allow me to lay them out for you:



First number 1 (the first first, if you will): I bought my first piece of art.

I am officially an adult. And a cultured one at that.

Ok, so it's a print (no need to break the bank just yet), but I bought it from the artist herself, in person, which has to count for something. 

I love Mary Gregory's stuff. She paints birds mainly, and I bought a framed print of a humming bird.

If you'd like to check her out, here is a picture of her card:

And a link to her website: http://marygregorystudio.com/


The prints come framed in rustic, wooden shadow boxes too - bargain! 



First number 2: I saw my first 'man-grape'.

I think this can only be explained with a picture:

First number 3: I consumed my first corn dog.

Let's backtrack a little...

'Grapefest' is an annual wine tasting festival in Grapevine. As well as wine tasting, they have various craft stalls, fair rides and food (the 'not-so-good-for-you' kind) vendors. 

Enter the corn dog. But not just any old corn dog. A foot-long corn dog. 

The first bite was yummy. I thought, "corn dog, where have you been all my life?" The second bite was the same, and so on, until I had eaten what can only be described as a normal amount of corn dog. But this was not a normal corn dog. I still had half a foot to go. 

The rest of the consumption was pretty brutal.

For those of you that don't know, a corn dog is a hot dog dipped in batter and deep fried. But it was ok, because the next day, I had my fourth first, which completely balanced it out (I hope).



First number 4: I completed my first 5K.

I walked the whole way, but it was a brisk walk, and I felt the burn. 

Next time (in two weeks, hopefully) I shall endeavor to run some of the way. It's all about progression. 

I've never been a runner. Apparently, I have a very unique running style, which involves a lot of bobbing up and down. I'm a 'bobber'. If I put the same amount of energy into going forwards, maybe I can crack this running lark.  


So, there you have it! My weekend of firsts. Art, man-grape, corn dog and 5K. 



FYI: My baby niece had a first this weekend, too. Her first rusk. They don't seem to have them in Texas, but I found them in the British Emporium. Hurrah! 

They are large round biscuits (cookies) for babies. I can still remember the taste (and it's not because I pinched a bit from my nieces rusk, although that did happen). It's just one of those baby-hood tastes that I think most Brits remember. 

Labor Day

Labor Day was on 1st September (yes, I'm spelling 'labor' without a 'u', but don't start hyperventilating just yet, my fellow Brits. Seeing as Labor Day is an American holiday, I felt I should spell it as they do. In all other uses of the word 'labour', I will of course insert the 'u', as I just did. Are we cool?).

I asked around a lot, and I have arrived at this conclusion - nobody knows what it celebrates. It is literally just a holiday. A day off for labourers. I'll take that!

Here is an account of my first Labor Day experience:

A cookout by the pool with Church family, immediate and extended, with dominant Italian ancestral roots. 

Glazed, charred chicken sweats in the air conditioning.The corn wears a sheen of butter and salt.

"Would you like ice cream? Cup cake?"
"Yes, please."
Both it is.

A cacophony of chatter. Italy glazed in American syrup.We eat and talk and watch tennis.

The pool invites competition. The boys leap in, secure a pole and split into teams. The volleyball is pounded and spiked for four hours. Faces turn red from the sun and exertion. 

The women watch, cheer and heckle from the sides. Smooth legs and one round baby bump.

An infant pings like a pinball from one set of mothering arms to another. His skin is ten shades darker than the rest. In one house we have Africa, Italy, England and Native America.Undoubtedly more.

Cards are dealt by painted fingers. Rules are learnt. The volleyball continues to fly.

Both games end at the announcement of hot dogs, chips and sweet tea. The day is complete. 



F.Y.I: I saw my first skunk! It was outside our apartment. I tried to get a closer look, but my husband called me back in fear. Apparently they can squirt up to fifteen feet! That's a lot of pressure. Surely that must propel the skunk in the opposite direction?! 

A Moment From a Thursday Morning

Every morning, I challenge myself to write about a random event, object or thought for ten minutes in my notebook. 

Here is last Thursday's entry as I filled my tank at the petrol station in the early morning:


Light settles like dust on the concrete.

Spattered clouds protect the early sun.

A yellow haze of pollution on the horizon fades into white, then blue; the closer to God, the purer the air.

The sticky sound of rolling rubber. The click of a nozzle. The whir of a pump. The rush of fuel through a thick black vein.

This ritual is performed simultaneously fourteen times by bleary eyed workers. No one speaks.

A steamy polystyrene cup is perched on a roof.

A woman readjusts her tights. 

The removal guys open their fourth Burger King breakfast biscuit of the week. They slap each others shoulders, move in for a swift bump.

The sun breaks free from the clouds.

A man coughs.

An engine starts.

A radio mumbles through glass.

And two birds sit on a wire. 

A long overdue update

The silence is over - I will be posting every Tuesday from now on. I promise. 

I apologise for my neglect. Time has whizzed by, projects have plonked themselves in front of me, and before I knew it, I'd blinked three times and found myself at the end of August - crikey! 

I've been cracking on with my eight-to-five at the oil company (Dolly Parton lied - nine-to-fives are non-existent) and writing away. 

I've been working on picture books for young children, some of which are being published with a new publishing company in Houston (Tiny Readers), so I'll keep you posted with their progress. 

The Middle Grade audience has also grabbed my attention, so that's another area I've been delving into. Again, I'll keep you posted with any upcoming projects. In that area, I am currently working on a novel about a fictional young carer. When complete, I hope to use this piece as a way of raising money for a young carer organisation yet to be decided. 

So, that's where I am at the moment - searching out opportunities to write and tell stories.

Now, do you want to hear something crazy? Of course you do. Those that follow me on social networks may already have read this story, so I apologise for repetition, but here it is -

I was sitting at my desk, gazing out the window for inspiration, when a Texas truck pulled up. For those of you that can't picture one, it looked something like this:

 

(I couldn't see the back of his truck, but I like to think that he had this very same sticker)

The back was full of old computer monitors and leads. The driver, a man in a white t-shirt and Adidas trousers, whacked his radio up to blaring and climbed out of the driver's seat.  

He let down the back of his truck and selected a monitor. He placed it screen down on the ledge. He went back to the driver's seat. By this time, I was anticipating writing gold and had my notebook and pen at the ready. 

He rooted around in the glove compartment and pulled out a hammer. By this time, I was anticipating lunacy and started planning my escape route. 

He walked back to the monitor and started smashing away, clearly enjoying himself. He put down the hammer, went back to the driver's seat and pulled out a larger one. By this time, my mouth was hanging open. 

He continued his smashing, but stopped when he cut his finger. He shoved the monitor back into the truck, secured the back, and walked around the truck, smashing other monitors as he went, just for good measure. 

Then he climbed back into the driver's seat and drove away. 

What was his story?? I would love to know. I've looked at the event from different angles and I can't draw away from the fact that it was nuts. Monitor Man, if you're out there, please explain. 

Until next Tuesday, then! 

FYI: I am currently on a Mitch Albom kick. Since being in America, I have been discovering this country's fine literature. Mitch and me are now as thick as thieves. I've read Tuesday's with Morrie, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, and I am currently munching away at Have a Little Faith. 

If you haven't read any of Mitch Albom's work, I highly recommend it. His stories are told simply and truthfully. They draw on real characters and venture so deeply into human nature that you finish his books feeling like you have a collection of new friends. 

Here is a link to his website: http://mitchalbom.com/d/ 

Make sure you take the time to watch the Have a Little Faith video: http://mitchalbom.com/node/5515  

Enjoy! 

Happy Fourth!

My first fourth of July went out with a bang of stunning fireworks!

We made the journey to Jacksonville Lake on the Friday morning and stayed at a friend's lake house. The weather was perfect, the water was warm, and the food was plentiful (burgers, of course!). We bobbed around on 'floaties' in the water (I had been assured that there were no alligators, only snakes (!!!)) and when the sun set, we took the barge out to the centre of the lake and watched the fireworks. It was so peaceful! 

The Fourth of July celebrates the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, when America broke away from British rule. As a Brit, I didn't know how I was supposed to feel about this holiday, but needless to say, I ate my burger and shouted 'Merica' with the rest of them. 

The only thing we missed due to our early departure the next morning, was a feast of alligator that had been shot by a friend of the family when it began to terrorize his cows! We were told that he shot it, that it slipped into his pond, and that he went in after it, not knowing whether it was alive or dead! The water came up to his neck and the alligator was 11 feet long! 

Big Texas Bug

I had my first run-in with a mutant Texas flying bug at work today. Woe betide me for thinking I could have the door open!

The intruder buzzed in, all big and red and stingy. What was my course of action? Well, I froze, stood up, sat down, stood up again, and then finally rang my co-worker who came in and rescued me. 

It looked like this:

...and was the size of my face.