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It's rainy today. I can feel the onset of winter in the rain these days, and have dreadful misgivings about the creeping potential for winter depression in myself. I don't need this! I already get summer depression, isn't that enough in terms of season-related moods?!?
At any rate, I need to go out soon and purchase a tea-cosy. My father will be heading down to Texas in a week or so to meet up with my mother, who is staying at my auntie's in Whitesboro, and she told me to buy a tea-cosy and send it down with dad. Are there truly no places to find a decent tea-cosy in smalltown Texas? How do they keep their teapots warm?
Not that Auntie Ronnie would have run into the problem of cooling teapots before -- she's not big on tea -- but she recently married a lovely Iranian gentleman who drinks a lot more of it. My uncle Bobby is one of Ali Daie's brothers, which is pretty nifty; my other uncles are not nearly so interesting. Except for Uncle Lolly, who we dreaded visiting when we were girls because he and my aunt Doodoo and cousins all lived in a shack in the country, and it was cramped and uncomfortable and had (horrors!) an *outhouse*. Then a few years ago after the parents visited Trinidad, Dad mentioned that Uncle Lolly's fortunes had reversed, and he now owned an enormous mansion and multiple luxury cars and wore gold chains like they'd been bequeathed to him by Mr. T. Upon our incredulous demands for explanations, my poor dear trusting father said, "oh, he's doing a lot of contracting jobs now."
"Dad," said Lori and I as we prodigiously employed air-quotes, "usually, 'contractors' don't become millionaires in a couple of years or get letters from people threatening to kidnap their sons."
"He's very good at his job," our father said haplessly. We left it at that, but whenever we refer to Uncle Lolly's business we use the finger-quotes. I have to admit, it *does* add a little excitement to the family, considering the rest of my uncles teach math or work for Kodak or are petrochemical engineers.
For no good reason, I am craving shark and bake. Actually, there's a very good reason: I haven't had it in years and shark and bake is sublime, yes oui.
At any rate, I need to go out soon and purchase a tea-cosy. My father will be heading down to Texas in a week or so to meet up with my mother, who is staying at my auntie's in Whitesboro, and she told me to buy a tea-cosy and send it down with dad. Are there truly no places to find a decent tea-cosy in smalltown Texas? How do they keep their teapots warm?
Not that Auntie Ronnie would have run into the problem of cooling teapots before -- she's not big on tea -- but she recently married a lovely Iranian gentleman who drinks a lot more of it. My uncle Bobby is one of Ali Daie's brothers, which is pretty nifty; my other uncles are not nearly so interesting. Except for Uncle Lolly, who we dreaded visiting when we were girls because he and my aunt Doodoo and cousins all lived in a shack in the country, and it was cramped and uncomfortable and had (horrors!) an *outhouse*. Then a few years ago after the parents visited Trinidad, Dad mentioned that Uncle Lolly's fortunes had reversed, and he now owned an enormous mansion and multiple luxury cars and wore gold chains like they'd been bequeathed to him by Mr. T. Upon our incredulous demands for explanations, my poor dear trusting father said, "oh, he's doing a lot of contracting jobs now."
"Dad," said Lori and I as we prodigiously employed air-quotes, "usually, 'contractors' don't become millionaires in a couple of years or get letters from people threatening to kidnap their sons."
"He's very good at his job," our father said haplessly. We left it at that, but whenever we refer to Uncle Lolly's business we use the finger-quotes. I have to admit, it *does* add a little excitement to the family, considering the rest of my uncles teach math or work for Kodak or are petrochemical engineers.
For no good reason, I am craving shark and bake. Actually, there's a very good reason: I haven't had it in years and shark and bake is sublime, yes oui.
