Tag: Winter

Dec 23

Tell you what, after the holiday, can we have a holiday from the holiday so we can all recover?

We sat down at 7AM, and then, with the exception of tea at eleven (more on that shortly), worked through until almost five, and we have barely scratched the surface of the stuff in the work queue. Then we went out for the evening with family to see what turned out to be an exceptionally odd film, and now there is shortbread in the oven.

After we do this, we have to walk down to the local metro to see if there’s marzipan (there won’t be) to do the Christmas cake for tomorrow.

Oh, and dinner wouldn’t go amiss. That would be quite nice. We had vague plans of reading before bed but the window between now and then is apparently full, so….there’s always Christmas Eve?

But about this tea. It was Earl Grey Spiced Chai. It’s such a mouthful of a name we had to double check it against the packet. It tastes a bit confused. Really lovely tea, but not obviously Earl Grey. The signature bergamot gets lost in the spices. It might be better without milk or sugar, but with it, you definitely wouldn’t peg it for an Earl Grey. That’s not to say we wouldn’t have it again. We absolutely would. We might also give it a different name.

Before we rush out on Mission: Marzipan, have a poem. Nothing to do with names or Earl Grey so much as with the time of year, which definitely looks the part at the moment. Snow everywhere.

A Winter Bluejay
Sara Teasedale

Crisply the bright snow whispered,
Crunching beneath our feet;
Behind us as we walked along the parkway,
Our shadows danced,
Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.
Across the lake the skaters
Flew to and fro,
With sharp turns weaving
A frail invisible net.
In ecstasy the earth
Drank the silver sunlight;
In ecstasy the skaters
Drank the wine of speed;
In ecstasy we laughed
Drinking the wine of love.
Had not the music of our joy
Sounded its highest note?
But no,
For suddenly, with lifted eyes you said,
“Oh look!”
There, on the black bough of a snow flecked maple,
Fearless and gay as our love,
A bluejay cocked his crest!
Oh who can tell the range of joy
Or set the bounds of beauty?

Now, to rescue the shortbread and locate marzipan! Until tomorrow…

Dec 4

The abominable snowman went dancing today. Not on purpose or anything. What happened was that when we left for the wilds of the Scarborough microclimate, there was no snow. And when we got to Warden, where we catch the bus, there was no snow. But somewhere around Ellesmere Road, we looked up from our book and there was snow.

The Scarborough microclimate deteriorated after that. The sun declined to come up. The fog hung about like that cat in the T. S. Elliot poem that rubs itself against the windowpane. Supposedly, the sunset was at 16:40, but it looked like midnight by 1600, so…

Anyway, I messaged the dance people to see if the class was still on.

‘There’s not that much snow is there?’ asked she.

‘Not at all,’ said naive, foolish, past us, cozily onboard a bus now headed back through the snow and the gloom to home. There still wasn’t all that much snow when we made our eleventh-hour trip to the bank. But then we went to dance, and here the whole thing fell apart, because there was really quite a lot (British usage) of snow, and we had no boots, because they’re in a box of undisclosed location while renovators redo the front hall and what have you.

So, there we were, going along in increasingly wet suede shoes and no hat. Snow accumulating on our coat. It was very nice to get into the warm and dance Rutland’s Reel and other favourites. But then we had to do the whole thing backwards. There’s still really quite a lot of snow.

Now we are having Masala Chai. It’s not the designated tea for today, it’s just what’s on top of the box. An executive decision, because we don’t like knowing what we’re pulling out of the calendar. It’s like knowing what’s in the Christmas presents before you unwrap them. Spoils the fun.

It’s hard to describe the chai. For lack of a better word it tastes unfinished. Not because it’s bad, but because we had no sugar in, so we’re drinking it unsweetened. An Indian cab driver once got into this at length with us, and apparently there are some regions of India that make their chai this way. It’s a regional thing, sweetening to taste. But it’s the way we had it first, so that’s how it tastes best to us. The sugar brings out the spices. Still, it’s nice and warming, which is what we wanted. No one wants to be the abominable snowman forever.

Speaking of. Have a poem.

The Snowman
Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.