Christmas Nights, Christmas Lights

Since we spend Christmas Eve and Day at my parent's house in and then this year are heading immediately to England (!), A and I always celebrate our own Christmas one weekend before December 25th. This year we headed to brunch at one of my favorite places in Boston: Kitchen.

Kitchen brings to life dishes and recipes from throughout time - all the meals have dates of origin next to them on the menu, dating all the way back to a 17th century 'sallet' (salad). I love the historical aspect, the old cookbooks and records that make up the decor of the small South End locale, but I most of all love the doughnuts:

But really

I don't even really like doughnuts as rule (cider doughnuts be an exception) but these little pillows of cinnamon-y sugar goodness are heavenly. They are both a brunch starter and a dessert; they actually appear on the brunch menu twice. They are perfection in a little warm cakey bite, completed by the berry jam and vanilla sauce. 

LOOK at that

During brunch hours, complimentary homemade warm from the oven muffins are also served. 

A broken muffin still remembers it's true strength

The evening carb offering is homemade pretzel rolls. They may sound simple, but they are worth the trip. Really, if one went to Kitchen and had nothing by a cocktail and the doughnuts or pretzel rolls, one could be sated...until the call of the carbohydrate rises again...

After I stopped crying my tears of joy over the doughnuts, April had some beautiful oysters on a half shell that I did not partake in and thus forgot to photograph, but then the (other) piece d'resistance: lobster grits.

Bubblin'

Lobster grits may sound simple, but that is the magic of Kitchen: they take beautiful, high quality ingredients and make them live up to their tastiest level. 

Extreme lobster close up

Lobster grits half-consumed and the rest happily packed up, we wandered in the bitter cold through the downtown lights until it was time for the annual Trinity Church Candlelight Carols. Trinity is a beautiful Romanesque church that sits in the center of Boston's Copley Square. Every December, Trinity hosts a carol service for the community. 

View from the balcony

As twilight drains out of the church, the candles are lit and the light spreads throughout every nave and row of the church. The carols represent countries and cultures from around the world, including medieval folk songs and African spirituals. The spectacular surroundings combined with the soaring music of a choir could put anyone in the holiday spirit. 

After the music ended, we re-entered the city to find a pristine dusting of snow.

Our perfect day was complete. Until the next Christmas event...

The First Line Winter Challenge: Ships and Heartbreak

Many of my new year's goals of 2012 carried over into 2013, including my intent to write more. To keep myself motivated I try to write and submit entries to literary journals. This was my - albeit unsuccessful - submission to the winter edition of The First Line. I'm just proud I completed and submitted it!

~

On a perfect spring morning with flat seas and clear blue skies, Captain Eli P. Cooke made a terrible mistake.  The captain could not believe his own misjudgment.  He stood at the bow of his ship “Constance” named after his wife and glared in the early morning sun.  The horizon sat unwaveringly in front of him as calm as glass.  Closing his eyes Eli took a deep breath, feeling it catch under his ribs.  He forced his eyes open and gripped the rough railing tightly, steeling himself for the day ahead.  As he turned and strode back to the captain’s quarters, he could not fathom how he would face it.

Constance Cooke stood at the kitchen sink looking out at the placid sea.  She hummed under her breath, thankful the weather would be pleasant for her husband’s sea voyage.  He was not going very far, just a several ports north, but she was a true sailor’s wife and she knew how inconvenient even the slightest change in weather could be.  Captain’s wife, she corrected herself smiling.  Eli had been sailing North at least every month, sometimes every fortnight but Constance did not worry.  He had been born a sailor and on the ocean was where he belonged.  She had her responsibilities to the home and hearth and the time apart would seem like an instant when he had returned to her.

James O’Connor awoke with a start and sprang out of bed.  Today was the day and he had many things to do in preparation. He shaved and dressed carefully, stopping only for a moment to glance admiringly at the clear sky outside his window.  He soon rushed into the gentle spring morning and headed toward the harbor.  

Captain Cooke did the rounds and insured all was running well on board the Constance before he settled himself behind the large oak desk in the Captain’s quarters. Maps and charts lay scattered across the aged boards, depicting the best paths through dangerous waters and the phases of the moon.  The Captain did not need to reference these charts; he knew it by heart.  He had grown up on the merchant ships of his father and uncles, and he had demonstrated a knack for all things sailing at a precocious age.  He had joined a company as soon as he turned 16.  He loved the boats, the ocean breeze, the comradery amongst the sailors.  He had made lifelong friends, many of whom now worked the rigging or cooked the meals on his own ship today.  He had also met Constance’s brother while on trading business down south eight years ago and not longer after had the chance to meet Constance.  They had married a few months later.

Eli thought of his wife.  He imagined what she would be doing in their seaside home this beautiful spring morning.  The house would be spotless already, and all the meals for the day in preparation.  Constance was an excellent homemaker and more importantly, a kind-hearted companion.  She understood the life of a sailor, a Captain, and uncomplainingly kept house and dedicated her abundant free time while Eli was at sea to a variety of good causes.  She had never once questioned his lifestyle.  She knew how much he loved the sea.

Constance walked toward town for her afternoon work at one of her organizations.  The other ladies teased her, somewhat enviously at her peace of mind and constant dedication to her sailor husband.  Many women were married to sailors in this town but most lived much more tumultuous lives because of it.  They complained over iced tea of the womanizing, gambling, and drunkenness their husbands insisted on partaking in, at home and even more troubling, in other ports.  It often seemed that all the men had picked up at least one less than savory habit while on ships, no doubt due to the need to pass the time at sea.  The women loved their men, but they struggled to achieve marital harmony like that of Constance and Eli.  Constance amusedly thought of this as she strolled in the sunshine.  She had been lucky and she knew it everyday.  As she passed the church she crossed herself, thanking the universe for her husband, her life, and the calm sea.

James O’Connor stood at the end of the old rock jetty his hand shielding his eyes in the growing sun of late morning.  He could not believe his luck; the weather, the day, the events that lay ahead.  He scoured the horizon once more for incoming ships before turning to climb back up the jetty and head into town.  It would be several more hours until the ship came in and in the meantime, James’ stomach demanded breakfast.

Captain Cooke masterfully directed the navigation toward the port, pleased to be ahead of scheduled despite the gnawing feeling in the pit of his gut.  He had travelled many seas in all types of weather, seen comrades drowned, nearby ships capsize, and still felt relief at guiding his ship and men to promised safety.  This time, it felt even more momentous.  Eli pushed his unbidden feelings aside and began the final docking preparations.    

Upon dry land again, Eli climbed the hill toward the small main street of the sea-side village.  He had been here many times before, and each time he was happy.  He looked around him nodding acknowledgement to other seaman as he moved down the street.  “Captain Cooke!” a man’s voice called suddenly and Eli turned.  James O’Connor stood six feet away, a wide smile on his face.  “Welcome home!” he jested as he shook Eli’s hand, and together they turned down a side street.

Constance walked home in the fading light of the early evening.  Her husband always sent word to her that he had safely made it to his destination and she expected to find a note when she returned home.  She had no reason to worry, but she appreciated his thoughtfulness.  He had not mentioned when he would return, but she knew he would let her know that too.  

James and Eli sat across from each other, each taking in the changes in the other.  It had been a few months since they had last seen each other, but the men had known each other for over three years.  They had met in this port, when James had worked on repairs on the Constance.  Eli had instantly liked the young man, and often stopped to have a beer with him when in port.  They chatted and drank for a few hours before emerging into the dusk.  

The sea lay at their feet as the two men sat on the jetty.  James put his hand over Eli’s.  “Will this be the time you stay?” He asked quietly.  Eli did not respond but when James leaned over to kiss him he did not resist, as he had tried to in the past.  “We have always been happy together” James choked out “and I only want to be happy all the time.”  Eli stared transfixed at the waves crashing against the rocks, ever constant of James’ hand in his.  He had spent three years torn between here and home and he had finally set his mind in one direction.  He had agonised for years and as he had looked over the ocean that morning, he knew he could only control the damage as best as he knew how, but he could not prevent it altogether.  James leaned toward him, awaiting a response, but Eli could only stare at his ship Constance bobbing gently in the harbor.

“Mrs. Eli P. Cooke” the envelope on the doorstep read in clear black ink.  Constance stooped to pick up and turning, cast one more look over the peaceful ocean.  She busied herself in the kitchen with the evening meal, and only after that was well on its way did she open her husband’s post.  The sun sunk beneath the horizon as she read:

“Constance,

You have been a good and faithful wife, but I have let you down.  I will not return from the north port presently and I cannot say if I will ever return.  Please know I am safe and I have always loved you, as as well as my heart knew how.  Forgive me.

With love,

Captain Eli P. Cooke”

Shake it Out

The snow won't stop falling, the work won't cease piling up, and the weekend will be gone before we know it. All there is to do is listen to Florence and follow suit:

The March Blues

Winter lasts at least six months of the year in New England. Sometimes it seems like it never actually ends but just goes into hiding only to reappear as soon as your hopes are high. As spring approaches, the worst is the constant tease of warmer weather; we get a foot of a snow and then it’s 50 degrees the next day, then it’s freezing rain and back to the high 40s and sunny. You keep getting your hopes up, only to have them dashed on the cold hard ground and no one knows what to wear (Rain boots? Winter boots? Rain slicker? Down jacket? Both?)

You know the spring is coming but by early March when the snow is still falling regularly, it gets pretty depressing. And the March Blues have definitely taken up full time residence around these parts. Short of relocating, all I can do is keep the blues at bay by any means necessary.

Make cookies

Or cake. Or anything tasty. We recently discovered the wonderment that is “The Great British Bake Off” and have now begun our own baking competition that consists of our own good sense against our own lacking skills. But every so often something comes out beautifully – or at least very tasty - and one just feels so accomplished. Baking aside, coming home after a shitty day and cooking a beautiful meal often salvages the day. Or just go out and let someone else cook for you.

Okay, so I bought it not made it.

Schedule a dream vacation (or at least create an inspiration board about it)

When things aren't going well, it’s important to remember things will change eventually. Even better is to start making exciting plans to look forward to. Pick a weekend to meet up with friends or schedule a mini trip away. Better yet, plan a big summer adventure that you can research and dream about straight through the spring rains. Comparing beaches and resort menus is the best use of your lunch break - besides eating cookies.

Bermuda, Horseshoe Bay

Escape mentally

A good book transports you to another time and place and let’s you be someone different for a few hours. A well-crafted movie or show can do the same with striking images and soaring music. It seems simple enough to turn on the tv or pick up a book, but to truly immerse yourself - put down the smartphone, stop reading the mail, and finish the chores first - into a piece can relax your mind and give you a bit of peace. Pretending you are somewhere - or someone - else for an evening might just distract you from the dreary reality outside your door.

You know you always wanted to be a wizard, admit it

March will come and go and spring will arrive. In the meantime you might as well enjoy yourself, mother nature be damned!

Watching for a Blizzard: Making your snow day great

We consider it a point of pride our masterful handling of snowstorms in the Northeast. Regardless of how calmly or recklessly we manage the actual storm, we scorn the poor souls in the other regions of the U.S. that just seem to have no idea what to do when frozen white water begins falling from the sky. In my lifetime I've seen some historic weather: ice storms that coated whole towns in sheets of frigid glass for weeks, foot upon foot of snow closing down the streets of NYC, and near-hurricanes bringing eight foot swells into shore. Two winters ago we had snow accumulation almost every week for five months straight. Hell, I saw it snow a few days before Senior Prom (in June).

Now they are calling for 12-24 inches tomorrow into Saturday and New Englanders are relishing it.  Now we get to be austere and stoic about the weather while ‘working from home’, watching crap television, and drinking an irrational amount of alcohol.

So let’s talk about the perfect snow day. Living in the city opposed to my childhood in the  country, snow days have a different meaning (no impromptu four-wheeling in the streets of Boston unfortunately) but there is still a formula behind any good snow day.

   1) Knowledge is Power

      The first step to any situation is to know what you are up against. Are you totally cleared for the day off? Shut off your alarm, immediately. Got the inkling you will be let out after lunch? Dress as comfortable as possible for the workplace, wear boots, and load your weather app to reference at least several times an hour. Play time can start soon enough. Was your boss awesome / silly enough to say everyone could work from home today? Wake up shortly after you would have to be at work normally, check your email, make sure to respond and copy as many people as necessary, then make some hot chocolate and turn on netflix.

   2) Prepare

      New Englanders play it real smooth in the run up to a storm, but I promise there isn't a soul in these six states that doesn't immediately go to the store ‘for a few things’. Moms buy milk, bread, and vitamins; most everyone else buys beer. This is the first world, so it’s highly unlikely you’ll really be snowed in for any extensive period of time, but having the appropriate snacks and beverages really takes the snow day up a notch. We have wine, beer, brandy, tea, and cereal. We can make do for at least a week.

3) Access the possibilities 

By now you know exactly how much free time you have, as the storm may or may not be whipping outside. What does your heart desire? What does your neighborhood have to offer/allow? Sledding in the city is a bit more treacherous than in the country, and most of us don’t keep sleighs in our condos. But if you want to go sledding, improvise! I hear cafeteria lunch trays work quite well. If you want to watch six seasons of Xena Warrior Princess, do it. The key is to enjoy yourself (no one will know what you do unless you tell them!)

   4) Wish it, want it, do it 

      You've done it. You are out of work for the day, you've got extra provisions, and a plan. Now enjoy the hell out of your free time. And make sure to check accumulation regularly so you can talk about the weather thoroughly like a proper New Englander.

Serious Nor'easter, Boston 2010

1st Line Submission

I have been trying to get back into the habit of writing regularly (thus this blog) so I've started seeking out literary journals like The First Line . As the name suggests, the premise is that TFL publishes opening lines each season and invites entries that start with it. I submitted an entry for the winter 2012 issue and while my piece was not chosen, I am still pleased to have actually finished and submitted something! So here it is.

Next week: Part II of 2012: A Year in Review and then on to homemade Christmas presents (hopefully!)

Sometimes, when it's quiet, I can remember what my life was like before moving to Cedar Springs.  I find that it is often quiet here, neither to the improvement or detriment of daily life.  Cedar Springs is good at maintaining the careful balance between extremes; no day is too hot or too cold, no celebration too ostentatious or too petty, nothing too big or too small.  Life is as it should be in Cedar Springs.

Everything is pleasant without being over-stimulating; disappointments are gentle letdowns to be expected in modern life.

This has been my home for several weeks, months, years… I no longer keep careful measure.  I have found it peaceful for the most part and that is what they said I needed.

“Peace and quiet and time to rest” was the recommendation.  Cedar Springs was the ideal place.  In the quietest moments, I remember my life before; my ‘last life’.  All there is now is the undulating present of days like the ones that went before and tireless nights following after.

I am lucky.  Every day, I hear this.  Most times some person tells me; sometimes I swear the swaying tree branches or the glass-like river whispers it.  I am lucky, I know that.  I would know that without any reminder, but I have grown not to mind.  Cedar Springs is a place where people are always grateful in a dignified manner and expect others to behave in the same reserved way.  It is different than my last life, but I do not mind.

In the time I’ve been in Cedar Springs, I have walked every street in town.  I have been in all the shops and eaten in all the establishments, fine and otherwise.  I have read every book about Cedar Springs, set in Cedar Springs, written by Cedar Springs.  

Perhaps I will write a book I said suddenly one day, looking up.  “Yes of course you should” the faces around the room said.  ‘That would be nice.’ ‘That would be a great undertaking.’  ‘It could really take you places’ the last voice in the circle said.  I have already come here, I thought.  Where else was there to go?

The loudest voice in the room pierces my thoughts:
“Would your book be about before Cedar Springs or before?”

I looked at him, the first person I met in this town, the man I saw everyday.

“I can’t say until I start writing.”

The next day he handed me a blank notebook.
“I think we’ve gotten enough done today. Take the rest of the day off and go write. I’m excited to read your book.” he said, smiling.

I plunged through the double doors into the cold outside.  I could walk home from here, to the grocery store, the pharmacy; everything was close in Cedar Springs.  I had known it’s every avenue, street, and park within a few hours of moving here.  I think I know these streets better than I know myself.

I walked the long way home, stopping from time to time to jot down observations, poetic descriptions, dainty enough strings of words.  I wandered down streets I had seen a hundred times before and tried to look at them anew.  The sky stretched for miles overhead and the ground below yielded to its reach.  The sky in Cedar Springs was the same sky I had looked up to every other day of my life.  It was all the same.

Snow began to fall as if it had been planned.   The day had drawn to an end and the wind had grown colder, and so the snow fell.  I thought of the last time I walked in the drifting snow, before Cedar Springs and I could barely recall what had come before.  

2012: A Year in Review Part I

2012 is a year that will live in infamy. Not only did I get married and Obama was re-elected, I also met Jeanette Winterson and visited the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Momentous, if i do say so myself.  So for posterity and good cheer, here’s the year in review:

January
 

See?

It is a little known fact that Hogwarts is located a short distance from Jurassic Park, but I now am privy to this important geological knowledge. The Wizarding World of Harry Potter or affectionately “Harry Potter Land” is located in Orlando, Florida as consolation to all the Americans not lucky enough to actually be British. It is so cleverly appointed, right down to Moaning Mrytle’s incessant weeping and wailing in the girl’s bathroom. It is almost as fun to stand in line as it is to get on the Hogwart’s ride, as you snake through the school grounds, scoping out the greenhouse and Dumbledore's office. Two engaged, late twenty-somethings gallivanting around on the only 40 degree day in Florida to the sound of John William’s “Hedwig Theme” was purely romantic. And cold, but you have to suffer for the things you love.

February

I debate each year which month is worse: February or March. In New England, they are both piercingly cold, dark, mostly miserable time spans. Valentine’s candy typically pushes February ahead of March, but not this year.  I don’t remember anything of note.

March

I think I’ve traditionally disliked March more than other months since by then I am so deep in the SAD disorder, I want to sleep under a heat lamp and can only watch uncomplicated children’s movies without full on weeping. They lied when they quipped “March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.” In the northeast, it normally just rains or snows or both, all month long.
 
But this March, I met Jeanette Winterson. British author of “The Powerbook”, “The Passion”, and her cover story / autobiography “Why be Happy when you could be Normal”, Winterson is one of my favorite contemporary writers.  And I met her. I said some silly things to her and she signed my copy of “The Powerbook.” Then I swooned all the way home and bought more of her books on Amazon. It was one of those inspiring experiences that made me simply happy to exist.

Oh you know, me and Jeanette.

 April

April 30th was our four year anniversary (and Queen’s Day in the Netherlands). This year was even more special as we would be getting married in two months, on another 30th. We had afternoon tea at the Four Seasons in Boston and semi-anxiously awaited the upcoming nuptials...by pretending nothing was happening at all.

May

About a month before my wedding, in the midst of a plethora of activity and events, I started this blog. I loved to write and wanted to do it more often, but I needed structure (and positive feedback). Thus “Tea and Circuses” was born and I finally stopped being a total creeper and actually started commenting on some of the blogs I had been reading for years.

June

On June 30, 2012, I married my best friend.  While many people make this cliche statement, I actually mean it.  April and I are madly in love and very compatible, but we spend more time playing silly games, reenacting chase scenes through the house, quoting “Shaun of the Dead” or "Austin Powers" and engaging in general ridiculousness than we do gazing into each others’ eyes and reciting poetry. Though I do sometimes read the sex columns and Jeremy Clarkson pieces out loud to her. She brings me tea every morning and rubs my perpetually sore muscles. I cook her favorite meals  and pack her lunches for work. We are the couple the photographer turns to, even when it’s not our wedding but I rarely notice, since I’m usually whispering to April to check out someone’s unfortunate dress choice.

 Part II to follow...

It's Autumn: Break out the boots!

I do not spend a lot of money on clothing. My favorite stores are (and have been for years) Forever 21 and H&M. My whole wardrobe, work, play, and otherwise consists almost entirely of pieces from these two fine merchants and some other bits from T.J. Maxx. And yes, you can create work-appropriate outfits from Forever...I am mistaken for a student regularly enough anyways, so what's it matter?

I tend to save my money on copious trips to everywhere. But the exception makes the rule, as they say. When it comes to shoes, I have no luck finding anything that fits comfortably and is work/dress appropriate. I am even willing to pay a little (just a little) more for decent shoes but my limit is still pretty low. They are just shoes, right?

These are the beauties that proved me wrong:

It's makes the impending winter seem that bit less terrible

 I saw these gorgeous creations at Macy's last fall and for once risked trying on something that was priced well above my typical limit. Over $200 dollars but they were leather! And Italian-y! And so incredibly gorgeous. Macy's didn't have my size and I considered it a sign from the universe...until I realized amazon carried these babies for $40 bucks less. After throwing all my amazon rewards points at them, they were mine. 

We've got a crest!

And with an upcoming Bachelorette party this weekend, it's time to break them out for the season again. While I continue to wear nine dollar skinny jeans from Forever 21, I'm pretty pleased about this pricey exception.

Vince Camuto Two-tone riding boots, Fall 2011