Tea with T.

Tea in Various Time Zones

My Tea with T. page is going to be relatively silent for a couple of weeks as I am off and running again, doing more travel and having more adventures this summer than ever before in my life.  No, seriously!  50 years of inertia and I now have a suitcase and carry-on bag that suffer from road-rash.  And a bit of international road-rash, at that.  I’ve just returned from the unbelievable gift of a birthday trip to Vancouver, B.C. and various points in Alaska and I’m now on my way to San Diego for Comic-Con… which, I believe should be equivalent to intergalactic travel (for which I’d like a stamp in my new passport, thank you) what with all of the Stormtroopers, Superheroes and alien attendees.  And next week?  I will be in Spain. 

 

[Gah.  Forgive me.  I had to pause myself and re-read what I just typed.  I will be in Spain.  Still, not real.]

 

For years, my most exiting travel took place only in my mind.  A lot of it fueled by the books I was reading.  When I was 12 years old,

Tea in Various Time Zones

My Tea with T. page is going to be relatively silent for a couple of weeks as I am off and running again, doing more travel and having more adventures this summer than ever before in my life.  No, seriously!  50 years of inertia and I now have a suitcase and carry-on bag that suffer from road-rash.  And a bit of international road-rash, at that.  I’ve just returned from the unbelievable gift of a birthday trip to Vancouver, B.C. and various points in Alaska and I’m now on my way to San Diego for Comic-Con… which, I believe should be equivalent to intergalactic travel (for which I’d like a stamp in my new passport, thank you) what with all of the Stormtroopers, Superheroes and alien attendees.  And next week?  I will be in Spain. 

[Gah.  Forgive me.  I had to pause myself and re-read what I just typed.  I will be in Spain.  Still, not real.]

For years, my most exiting travel took place only in my mind.  A lot of it fueled by the books I was reading.  When I was 12 years old,

 I went to New York to visit Francie Nolan and her brother Neeley in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.  Immediately after, courtesy of the same author, Betty Smith, I went to Ireland in her book Maggie Now.  Around the same time, I toured Holland in The Dutch Boy and the Dike and experienced my first snow, thanks to Zlateh the Goat, in some unnamed land (which prepared me for REAL snow in Sequim, Washington many years later), as laid out by Isaac Bashevis Singer.  To truly head out and travel now, after decades of only doing so by fingertip-to-pages, is to finally see, hear, smell, touch and taste the places I’ve only visited in my imagination.  It blows my mind that about this time next week, I am going to be sitting on a stool in Ernest Hemmingway’s beloved Cerveceria Alemana in Madrid then take myself for a leisurely stroll around the Plaza Mayor.  My heart can hardly stand it.

Back in 1996 my mother-in-law came to live with us, having been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  I’d watch her spend hours upon days upon weeks sitting in the corner of the living room sofa reading paperback novels.  As soon as one was finished, she’d grab another and start all over again, sometimes reading favorites multiple times.  I begged her to get off of the couch and go somewhere, anywhere, before the pages on the calendar could not be retrieved.  She insisted it was not necessary, because everywhere she’d ever want to go she’d already been… in a book.

Last year, I was given a passport application as a gift from my Viking Beau – who decided I needed to see the world (or, perhaps, just get out of my head) and he saw to it that my first two passport stamps were London and Paris.  These past 18 months, I feel as though I’ve been living somebody else’s life, out of my suitcase.  It has been busy, but it has also been incredible.

So, my sweet friends -- for a couple of weeks my Tea with T. page will be quiet.  But, when I get back?  I hope to be able to quote Oscar Wilde when he said, “I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.”  Or ship.  Or plane.  Or automobile.  I promise to share, when I return.

“I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list.” – Susan Sontag

Tea in Various Time Zones

My Tea with T. page is going to be relatively silent for a couple of weeks as I am off and running again, doing more travel and having more adventures this summer than ever before in my life.  No, seriously!  50 years of inertia and I now have a suitcase and carry-on bag that suffer from road-rash.  And a bit of international road-rash, at that.  I’ve just returned from the unbelievable gift of a birthday trip to Vancouver, B.C. and various points in Alaska and I’m now on my way to San Diego for Comic-Con… which, I believe should be equivalent to intergalactic travel (for which I’d like a stamp in my new passport, thank you) what with all of the Stormtroopers, Superheroes and alien attendees.  And next week?  I will be in Spain. 

[Gah.  Forgive me.  I had to pause myself and re-read what I just typed.  I will be in Spain.  Still, not real.]

For years, my most exiting travel took place only in my mind.  A lot of it fueled by the books I was reading.  When I was 12 years old,

 I went to New York to visit Francie Nolan and her brother Neeley in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.  Immediately after, courtesy of the same author, Betty Smith, I went to Ireland in her book Maggie Now.  Around the same time, I toured Holland in The Dutch Boy and the Dike and experienced my first snow, thanks to Zlateh the Goat, in some unnamed land (which prepared me for REAL snow in Sequim, Washington many years later), as laid out by Isaac Bashevis Singer.  To truly head out and travel now, after decades of only doing so by fingertip-to-pages, is to finally see, hear, smell, touch and taste the places I’ve only visited in my imagination.  It blows my mind that about this time next week, I am going to be sitting on a stool in Ernest Hemmingway’s beloved Cerveceria Alemana in Madrid then take myself for a leisurely stroll around the Plaza Mayor.  My heart can hardly stand it.

Back in 1996 my mother-in-law came to live with us, having been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  I’d watch her spend hours upon days upon weeks sitting in the corner of the living room sofa reading paperback novels.  As soon as one was finished, she’d grab another and start all over again, sometimes reading favorites multiple times.  I begged her to get off of the couch and go somewhere, anywhere, before the pages on the calendar could not be retrieved.  She insisted it was not necessary, because everywhere she’d ever want to go she’d already been… in a book.

Last year, I was given a passport application as a gift from my Viking Beau – who decided I needed to see the world (or, perhaps, just get out of my head) and he saw to it that my first two passport stamps were London and Paris.  These past 18 months, I feel as though I’ve been living somebody else’s life, out of my suitcase.  It has been busy, but it has also been incredible.

So, my sweet friends -- for a couple of weeks my Tea with T. page will be quiet.  But, when I get back?  I hope to be able to quote Oscar Wilde when he said, “I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.”  Or ship.  Or plane.  Or automobile.  I promise to share, when I return.

“I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list.” – Susan Sontag

Fish Who Answer the Telephone…

Little bookshops make my heart skip a beat, in a really good, romantic and goose-bumpy way.  The problem is there aren’t that many mom & pop bookshops around anymore.  Between the big box stores, internet mail order and eBooks, commerce and technology have done away with the dusty shelves and lovely scent of musty “vanilla-ish” paper in the air.  By the way, this distinct aged paper smell was actually analyzed by scientists and found to be the result of hundreds of “volatile organic compounds” (aka VOCs) sent into the air from the paper.  Knowing there is a scientific explanation takes away from some of the romance of it all, I realize, but it’s still pretty cool.

 

Last spring, I had the tremendous pleasure of popping into a book shop called Jarndyce Booksellers, located at No. 46 Great Russell Street, in London.  Already a bit swoon-y from the company I was keeping and the idea of the incredible gift I’d been given (passport and transport across the pond, for goodness sake), I opened the narrow door to this beautiful postcard-worthy, picture-perfect hunter green book shop and willingly filled my lungs with volatile organic compounds.  It was a magnificent collection, with books and pamphlets in every nook and cranny and just enough dusty spots to feel antiquated, but not dirty (an art I am still trying to perfect in my own home).  According to their website, the building was constructed in the 1730s and given a facelift by the Duke of Bedford in the 1850s. Randolph Caldecott, the 19th century illustrator, lived and worked on this very spot (if you didn’t know, the Caldecott Medal is the annual award given to the most distinguished American picture book for children).  The building is also reported to be haunted, but having just arrived from Los Angeles that very afternoon, I believe I was too tired to give a hoot and aboot, even if a vaporous Scotsman in a diaphanous kilt had been leaning over my shoulder.

 

“You’re lucky. You got good kids.”

While discussing my love for my children the other day (I’m a mom, we’re known to do that) my lunch partner said, “Yeah, well -- you’re lucky.  You got good kids.”  He said this in a way that implied I had somehow picked my children up in a serendipitous cosmic yard sale, narrowly missing going home with the ill-tempered Garbage Patch Dolls sitting to their left.

Questioning my companion’s usually diplomatic communication skills, I inquired why he chose to label it “luck” instead of, I don’t know, “parenting” maybe.  He went on to explain that “there are plenty of good parents out there whose kids grow up to be complete…” -- and I almost quote “<expletive deleted>!”  

The argument of Nature Vs. Nurture is one that has raged since the Victorian era (but those people also had a utensil for everything.  Seriously?  Grape scissors? Way too much time on their don’t-touch-the-fruit hands) and the debate continues still today.  The question of whether we are products of our environment or our bloodline was actually raised as early as the 13^th century, but the more jingle-worthy phrase, Nature Vs. Nurture, was first published in a document called English Men of Science in the late 1800’s.

For hundreds of years, scientists and philosophers have questioned whether we are a product of our environment or our heredity.  Are we hard-wired from our ancestors or are we blank slates (tabula rasa) on which those that care for us, and our outside socialization, draws the ultimate conclusion of who we become?

Over time, the term “nurture” has grown to be defined as that which is going on, on the outside that defines us as human beings from the get-go: the prenatal, parental, extended family, peer experiences and influences such as media, marketing, and socio-economic status.  The term “nature” defines more of what’s going on, on the inside: heritability, the traits directly affected by your encoded DNA, such as your genetic predispositions to (perhaps) intelligence, personality, aggression, and sexual orientation.  [Go ahead and send your emails – I didn’t make that last one up, but I’m happy to listen to your thoughts on the matter.]

Kimberly Powell, a professional genealogist had this to say about the subject, “Researchers on all sides of the nature versus nurture debate agree that the link between a gene and a behavior is not the same as cause and effect. While a gene may increase the likelihood that you'll behave in a particular way, it does not make people do things.”  She went on to say something I especially liked, “…which means that we still get to choose who we'll be when we grow up.”

Having tutored music for 20+ years, I’ve worked with a whole lot of families who have brought brothers and sisters to me for lessons and I have watched some of those kids grow up into fine adults and seen some of them turn into relatively crappy adults (I’m sorry, but no matter how their parents try to sugarcoat addiction, immoral behavior or rudeness-in-the-name-of-reality-tv-type-honesty, I will not invite their now grown children to my table for tea).  I’ve watched thousands of families with kids raised by the same parents, sometimes sharing the same DNA, sometimes not (adopted) and whether they have monochrome similarities or multi-colored variables up the wahzoo, who is to say why one family is “luckier” than another when it comes to whether or not they “got” good kids.

Personally, I can see that parenting styles have a whole lot to do with it.  Humans are not exactly machines and are malleable, therefore those who are downright manipulative can push what buttons we do have and we will respond accordingly.  A family can have three boys and, depending on the personalities of those three, the parents can respond equally or slightly differently to that which they are presented with.  For example: #1 The shy and quiet child might not make all of his needs and desires known, so mater ‘n’ pater simply let him be, figuring he is fine; while #2 The middle child, falling somewhere in between may learn to be diplomatic in getting what he requires from mom & pop; and behind door #3 The squeaking child, with his stamping feet and mewling pleas, gets all the grease, including his brothers portions.  These wonderful parents, while working with similar lumps of clay had a choice in how to shape each and they may have employed the exact same parenting methods for all three sons, then again -- maybe not.  No matter what, each boy will grow into a man and very well may make choices that differ from his brothers, despite being raised in the same house, by the same parents with the same genes.

Human beings.  We are a most complex lot, aren’t we?

And so, the Nature Vs. Nurture debate rages on, even over a polite lunch in a four star restaurant between friends.  Having done more than a little light reading on the subject in my lifetime (I’m adopted, therefore I have always been fascinated by these studies), it doesn’t surprise me that even after scientists decoded the full sequence of the human genome a decade ago, there are no definitive answers.  In fact, Dr. Kevin Davies (author of the 2001 book Cracking the Genome) states that “even the most diehard geneticists acknowledge that the environment plays a major role in shaping our behavior, temperament, and intelligence.”  Ha!  Whodathunk.

As for me and my house, I am going to continue to roll the parental dice I have, and do what I can to shape the environment that my children are being raised in, in the hopes that it continues to play a part in how they might ultimately shape up as adults.  May luck be with me (and also with my above-mentioned friend, who has yet to spin the genetic wheel of parenthood).

“While we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about.’  -- Anon.

 

The stuff of life.

The staff of life, so, goes the quote about bread.  Meaning bread is one of those necessary, dietary mainstays.  Tonight, I was served some of the most delicious bread pudding I’ve ever had and all I could think was, “Hmmm.  Bread pudding.  Well, that’s what they ought to serve to evil people with no promise of paradise, so they can feel guilty about their wicked lives.”  That right there friend, is some necessary bread, in my opinion.

 

But, I happen to be someone who truly loves food.  So, maybe I’m a little twisted about how important it might actually be.  Sure, I’ve consumed meals just to get out the door, away from the table or as far and as quickly as possible from my dining companion/s (provide me with the right Prosecco or Shiraz and I just might name names) – but, for the most part, food is really great part of my every day.  It’s not that I’m one of those magic kitchen kittens either, who sit down and plan out menus and shopping lists (oh, and I love and am slightly envious of those of you who do).  I love to cook, but there are times when my countertop mixer often mystifies me to the point of stupification (Mix? Fold? Beat? Fluff? Wha…?), and my classic red and white Better Homes & Gardens cookbook (now in its 14^th edition, though mine is the 5^th) has a well-worn, dog-eared page that reminds me again (and again) how to cook eggs.  Soft or hard boiled?  Coddled?  Shirred?  Poached?  Who can remember?   No, for me the point is, if food makes it to the plate – I must celebrate.

 

Even with all of the amazing food choices out there, though I gotta say: Bread rules!  For versatility alone, you have to appreciate what the seemingly lowly food form can do.  You can serve it for breakfast in multiple modes (toast, French or otherwise); serve a bit with some cheese as a mid-day or evening snack; slice it up and hide some stuff inside and call it a sandwich (hero, hoagie, club, sub, panini, etc. – it is a terribly long list); put it on a cute little plate on your left side to accompany what’s for dinner; maybe even whip up (Beat? Fold? Mix?) some heavenly bread pudding to finish off the day.

 

Yes, bread surely is the staff of life – with the potential to fill your belly, but with a little imagination and maybe even a good recipe from my heroes over at Better Homes and Gardens, it can be the stuff of life…

 

Bread Pudding Recipe

 http://www.bhg.com/recipe/desserts/bread-pudding/

 

 

"The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread." -- Mother Teresa

“Do not breathe, simply to exist.”

Those were among the last words of one of the greatest American poets of all time.  He began writing poetry at the age of three and in the time he was given here on earth, he managed to create enough material for seven books, all New York Times bestsellers.   In his life he was an advocate for peace, a motivational speaker and one of the youngest people to lobby on Capitol Hill not for one, but many causes.  The wise words he spoke with his final breaths were uttered when he was two months shy of his 14^th birthday and his body could no longer fight the disease of muscular dystrophy.  In a life taken much too soon, Mattie J.T. Stepanek knew more about living, and the importance of being, than many will ever come to understand even if they are gifted with multiple decades. 

 

At his funeral, President Jimmy Carter cited this teenager as the most extraordinary person he’d ever known, even above “kings and queens, presidents and prime ministers.”  He reminded those in attendance, an audience that included Oprah Winfrey, Mattie wanted to be remembered as “a poet, a peacemaker, and a philosopher who played.”

 

Mattie’s primary philosophy was that he believed that each and every one of us has a “reason for being” and that everyone has a special gift to be shared with others.  The works of poetry that Mattie gave the world were all about what he called Heartsongs which he described as “your message, what you feel you need to do.”  It was important to him, in the time he was given, to help others “think about their lives, their spirits and their futures…to help them hear their heartsongs again.”

 

According to Jeni Stepanek, Mattie’s mother (who also has muscular dystrophy), his final sentence included a challenge to her with the words: Do not breathe, simply to exist.  With all of the spiritual dogma available, would it not behoove us as human beings simply to begin with that?  The first gift you receive when you enter this world is the ability to draw breath and it is with your last that your visit here is over.  For many, it is one of the most mindless things they do, something taken for granted day in and day out, yet without it – we cease to be.

 

Standing at the edge of the ocean with my eyes closed, the sound of the waves crashing and retreating feels as though I might be listening to the universe breathe.  Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...  It is not lost on me that nearly three-quarters of the planet is covered in salt water and that our bodies are made up of anywhere from 55% to 78% of the same stuff.  For me, it is nature’s not-so-subtle reminder of what’s really important, what is critical to our existence: hydration and respiration.  Most doctors believe you can go up to eight weeks without food, but it is a fact that you can survive only a few days without water but only minutes without oxygen, as breathing is vital to our existence.

 

But for Mattie Stepanek, he believed that just breathing isn’t enough.  I have to agree.  We have a responsibility to use each breath we are given with a sense of purpose.  In those six words: Do not breathe, simply to exist – an insightful young man gave us the foundation on which to build a meaningful existence.  From that simple base, we have the ability to expand and add to our life, and the lives of others with the remaining breaths we are given.  However many they may be.  Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “He lives most life whoever breathes most air.”  Not to step on Liz’s toes, but if I could add a codicil to that quote, I might say that the person who fully appreciates and uses the breaths they are allotted, are the ones who receive the most out of the life they live.  As for me, I would like to try and remember to not breathe, simply to exist.  I encourage you to do the same.

 

To learn more about Mattie and his amazing body of work visit http://www.mattieonline.com 

 

“Peace is possible…it can begin simply, over a game of chess and a cup of tea.” -- Mattie J.T. Stepanek

Know-it-All (wrong)

Turns out, some of those grown-ups that I put my ever-lovin’ childhood trust in to know everything, did NOT know everything.  As a result, my youthful attempts to achieve know-it-all status ultimately turned into more of a know-it-all, but know-it-all-wrong kind of thing.

The problem with having wrong information fed to you is akin to one of my (many) favorite Steve Martin comedy routines which featured the concept of teaching a child to speak completely wrong, so that when they started school they’d raise their hand to say something like, “Can I mumbo dogface in the banana patch?”  Thanks to a large batch of erroneous facts fed to me from my early days, there have been times when I felt a bit like that when I opened my mouth.

For example, as a child a beloved piano teacher breathlessly announced that the entire world was “tuned to A” and I believed her.  I was a kid.  We tend to do that.  Especially when you big people with authoritative tones speak with conviction.  This well-meaning woman told me that car horns, phone dial tones, etc. were all “Tuned to A, darling!”  Hours spent digging into extensive research as a terribly curious adult (the bigger kid version of me) revealed otherwise.  I discovered that up until the 1960's most American car horns were tuned to the notes E flat or C and that many modern horns are now tuned to F sharp and A sharp.  Well, even though it is a half step off on the musical scale, that’s still not A, is it?  Close, to be sure, but too pitch-y for me, Dawg.  Then, I dug a little deeper into musical vibrations of the world, only to be disheartened to find out that telephones do contain the 440 Hz of A, but they also contain an interfering F tone – so the truth is that there are two tones, not the lonely A that I’ve espoused for most of my adult life.  Well, son-of-a-biscuit-eating-bulldog.  Know-it-all-wrong, once more.

Another factoid that turned out to be fiction was when a relative told me that George Washington had wooden teeth.  Uhm?  No.  He didn’t.  Stop spreading that lie and get your facts straight.  Not that George’s choppers weren’t plenty unusual enough, having actually been created from gold, hippopotamus ivory, lead and actual human teeth and ones from horses and donkeys.  But, HELLO!?  The truth is waaay more fascinating than the whole fabricated carved-from-trees story.  And speaking of this need to fabricate Presidential facts, John F. Kennedy did not embarrass himself talking about a jelly donut to the people of Germany when he spoke the words, “Ich bin ein Berliner” – nobody really thought he was talking about Pfannkuchen, the jam donut.  Of course, at the time I was just a baby and couldn’t weigh in on that one (and still working on my English skills, not yet delving into German).

There were, of course, many concepts presented to me as a child that have taken a lifetime to suss out fact from fiction.  Allow me this opportunity to set the record straight, in case you were told these, too:

Chewing gum does NOT take seven years to digest in your system.

It is mostly indigestible, but eventually passes through your internal plumbing like that other possibly questionable stuff you ate.

It is NOT easier to balance an egg on end during the first day of spring.

It is just as impossible on that day as it is the other 364 days out of the year.

Ostriches do NOT bury their heads in the sand.

During the incubation period, they spend a lot of time turning over their eggs in a rather large pit of a hole (up to 8 feet wide and 3 feet deep).  From a distance, it can appear as though their heads are buried.  Trust me, they are not.

Lemmings are NOT suicidal.

For years people have accused lemming of being all “drink the fruit punch” crazy, following their fearless stupid leaders off cliffs en masse.  They don’t.  But, for some reason, this wee furry rodents are associated with all kinds of crazy misconceptions, like they fell out of the sky during stormy weather and died suddenly when the grass grew in the spring.  So, maybe they do have a freakish side that needs to be investigated further.  You go, Scully.  The truth is out there.

And sharks DO get cancer.

Long ago, I gave up my 12 year old’s dream of becoming a know-it-all, but thank heavens for the ability to access encyclopedias, university archives, the internet and good ol’ Snopes.com because the taller and older version of myself can at least hone knowledge down to a finer (truer) point.

As for you?  If you’re still holding out for your chance to wear the Crown of I Know All and to get your Mensa card in the mail this year, I’d like you to check out one of my favorite writers, A.J. Jacobs, who wrote a hysterically funny book called, appropriately enough, “The Know-It-All” – which he wrote after taking a year to read the entire Encyclopedia Brittanica (all 128 pounds of it) from A to Z (or, as he says, “From a-ak to zywiec”).  [http://www.ajjacobs.com/content/book.asp]

Get back to me once you accumulated some of your facts.  I’d love to hear about them.  Especially, when you speak with conviction in those authoritative tones.  It will help if you start your email with: Did You Know?...

...and National Library Week

Because I hadn't FINISHED my multiple mugs o' tea this morning -- I forgot to encourage you to celebrate National Library Week, too!  April 11-17 is the week to remember "Libraries are the heart of their communities."  As an extra added bonus author Neil Gaiman is the Honorary Chair.  You may know him as the man behind the films Coraline and Stardust, but he is an AMAZING author and I encourage you to run to the library (or bookstore) and pick up a copy of his latest, The Graveyard Book.  If I had more time (and tea) I would go on-and-on about my favorites, the Neil Gaiman short stories in Smoke and Mirrors, M is for Magic, Fragile Things... but I'll let YOU discover those on your own.  Maybe this week.  At the library.

D.E.A.R. Day

Today is D.E.A.R. Day – Drop Everything and Read in honor of Beverly Cleary’s birthday, April 12th.  If you’re not familiar with the legendary author Beverly Cleary, you might know her characters: Beezus and Ramona (coming soon as a movie to theaters – but, cheese & crackers people… read the book FIRST!)

 

Growing up, I remember thinking that I had a lot in common with Ramona Quimby.  I also thought the girl behind my house might have been the model for Beezus (and wished she was MY big sister) and knew a lot of boys who could have been Henry Huggins or his friends.  Which means – that Beverly Cleary clearly knew a thing or two about kids and why her books will be with us for generations to come.  I encourage you to visit her website at www.beverlyclearly.com to learn more and perhaps order books for your kids or grandkids (or the kids next door).

 

Today shouldn’t be the only day you Drop Everything and Read, but it’s a good day to start and a great habit to keep in the days to come (whether you're a kid or a kid-at-heart).

 

Happy D.E.A.R. Day to all!

 

xo – t.