In summer, the horizons keep expanding. Wavery heat lines on the highway make you think there is something ahead. The echo of a transistor radio from somewhere down the lake, comes to you on a hot wind that reminds you of the harvest happening back in town, where burnt men dump wheat into big trucks and drive them through the wavery heat lines to the elevator. You left an LP on the turntable in the basement, your mom is frying up chicken for ghost siblings who have left home, your back presses against the sand of a man-made dam, and your place in this time, is shimmering like the heat, the way thoughts and memories waver like lines, under your closed eyes. And this is what that sounds like:
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Blue teapot
It's been like living in England, lately. Damp and gray and rainy, day after day. It's weather like this that turns a middle-aged woman's fancy to thoughts of tea.
I've been reading about something called "cream tea", which in the Devonshire tradition means tea served with scones, clotted cream, and jam. What the hell is clotted cream? Where can I get it? I don't know, but it sounds gloriously fattening.
The idea is you split a scone in half, and cover each side with clotted cream, and then smear jam over that. I guess the Brits drink their tea with milk, and here's where I'm an American, through and through. I say, why have cream only on your scone, when you can have it in your tea too? When it comes to cream, more is more, right?
According to Wikipedia, a variation on the cream tea is something called "Thunder and Lightning" which consists of a round of bread, topped with clotted cream and golden syrup, honey or treacle. What the hell is treacle? I imagine a pasty English kid spooning it over his milk toast. It doesn't sound so good. But I suppose it's yummy.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
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