Sunshine in a jar

"I confess I have never made marmalade.  The nearest I've got is buying a box of oranges that then reproachfully, went moldy in my pantry. I have since never even pretended to myself that I'm the sort of person who's about to turn into a bottler and canner and storer of good things, though I live in hope."                                                                                                                                - Nigella Lawson, How to Eat

Another snowy morning in Barford...

A thick, beautiful, blanket of white covers the village, and the snow shows no sign of ceasing. 

Frantic mums scurry through the slippery streets, trying to get their precious ones to school on time, only to find that all of their early morning antics and efforts are for nought -- school is scheduled to shut at noon. 

On days like these, I am thankful to have only a cat and dog to worry about.

I'd hoped that the DEB would have a "work-from-home" day, but alas, no. There's a big meeting with chaps from Swansea, and one of the guys from head office actually made it in from Holland last night, so no excuse for the locals. 

If it had been a "no work, snow day," the DEB and I had planned to snuggle down and have an epic Cranford Fest! 

We have only just discovered the joyous pleasure that is Cranford, the epic, period drama starring Dame Judi Dench. We love it! 

We have also discovered that -- wonderful period costumes aside -- Cranford is an uncannily apt depiction of where we live! Barford, is indeed "very Cranford"- in all the best ways, of course. 

And, like Cranford, the only downside for a newcomer entering such an idyllic environment is that of learning to yield to the long-established principles of how things are done -- and not done.

There is, I imagine, in every English village a certain way of doing things. Whether it's the "Cranford way," the "Barford way", the "Alveston way", or the "Dunchurch way" -- there is a 'way,' a manner in which things are done. 

Process, protocol, habit and tradition. One would be wise to take a step back, learn, and above all, listen. 

There is an innocent American tendency, I believe, to rush in, as it were, where angels fear to tread. It comes from our innate sense of adventure, a desire to give, an urge to contribute/participate, and "make a difference."

I am learning to resist these natural urges, to take things slowly and steadily, and that "making a difference" is not always necessary.

An example. I have been asked, on several separate occasions, to join the leadership committee of the Barford W.I. Of course, I am flattered, humbled and hono(u)red by the suggestion. Someone even said that one day, I would "make a wonderful W.I. President."

In the not so distance past, I would have jumped at an opportunity like this. But, now? No, no, no, no, no. I'm still very wet behind the ears, and think I need to bide my time, observe more, watch and learn.

I find it very funny, and I'm sure I'm not the first person to acknowledge the similarity between the supporting community of women in 19th century Cranford, and the modern W.I. 

Before joining the W.I.,  I was very much of a similar mind to Nigella Lawson: "not the sort of person" to perserve, pickle or bottle, but always hopeful. 

Last year, I delighted myself by successfully turning out a very nice quantity of  "Chunky Lemon, Lime and Grapefruit Marmalade." 

But, this year? 

The big kahuna. I'm having a go at making the quintessential English perserve: Orange Marmalade.

The perfect activity for a snowy morning: the kitchen windows steamed over as jam jars boil on the hob; strains of Rachminov playing on Classic FM in the background; the sweet, tangy smell of oranges percolating slowly for two hours...

If Nigella can do it, so can I!

 

    

Making Martha Stewart Proud!

This past Saturday, The D.E.B. and I celebrated Thanksgiving with our friends,“The Songstress” and “The Music Man.” They are an amazing couple. The Songstress is a little dynamo, a bundle of energy, who embodies little pieces of 'home' for me. The D.E.B. reckons she reminds him of Angie Dickinson, who played Pepper Johnson on the American, 1970's TV show, Policewoman. (How does he even know about such things?) I think she's Nancy Sinatra. Anyway, she’s fab. A singer and photographer, who moved to Warwickshire 4 years ago. Still here, still happy and still in love with her man and her new country. They are an awesome couple.

And they were to be our first “Dinner Party Guests” here in Barford. My first dinner party! I shocked myself with how well organized I was. No fretting, no swooning and no tantrums! Shakespeare suggests, “The readiness is all,” I’d say: “The planning is all.” Not to mention Sainsbury’s, and the importance of having a helping hand.

The D.E.B. was an extraordinary help as sous chef and general, all-around dogsbody, and that made a huge difference. We cooked all day. The D.E.B. brought tea to me in bed at 8:00 AM, and we were cutting, dicing and dancing around our little country kitchen by 10:00 AM. Our 8lb turkey went into the cooker at precisely 11:30AM. It was clockwork, and loads of fun. Even that lovely Jamie Crick at Classic FM did his part. He kept us going with beautiful music, and played a bit of Aaron Copeland by request, with a dedication from me to my D.E.B. for being such a stellar American Thanksgiving sous chef! (That made the D.E.B. blush.)

Dinner wasn't until 6:30-7:00PM-ish so we had plenty of time. Even had time to take the Princess Pup for big walk around Barford in the afternoon, even though we had planned a huge meal, pulling out all the stops, and doing almost everything from scratch. Traditional Thanksgiving spread: Turkey, dressing/stuffing, gravy, roasted veggies (carrots, potatoes and parsnips), candied sweet potatoes, Brussels sprouts, cornbread, mulled wine…

I made Cranberry Relish for the first time! Used my trusty Easy British Classics cookbook and BBC Good Food Guide. I made myself proud. Realized that much of cooking is down to instinct. AND!!! I finally, finally, finally licked the infamous Yorkshire pudding! (Bite that, Nigella Lawson!) Yes, Yorkshire puddings for Thanksgiving, a gesture of thanks and concession to my new homeland. (Besides, I have no doubt that the folks who celebrated that first Thanksgiving back on Plymouth Rock still thought of themselves as English, and England as their homeland, so why not?) I was so pleased with myself, I could hardly eat! My greatest discovery in all of this was: la truffe graisse d'oie (goose fat). I’m not kidding. How did I ever cook, or live without it?

The Songstress and The Music Man were the absolute best dinner guests a hostess could hope for! They arrived on time and bearing gifts of chocolate profiteroles and pumpkin pie. Pumpkin pie is my absolute favorite. It is not Halloween, Thanksgiving or Christmas without Pumpkin Pie. And The Songstress made a pumpkin pie that tasted like home, and made me want to cry. We gathered round the table and Songstress gave me a nod. I lifted my glass and declared a toast. That wasn’t what she meant, and I knew it. I don’t know why, but I do get shy about praying in front of other people. Partly because I find words sometimes lack the ability to express my depth of feeling.

And, as an Episcopalian, I’m utterly unless on the spot without my Book of Common Prayer.  I challenge anyone to find a more eloquent expression of thanks than the BCP’s beautiful “Litany of Thanksgiving”. Unfortunately, as much as I love that Litany, I have yet to learn it by heart. So here I was, speaking to God on the fly. Over turkey, stuffing and homemade cranberry relish, we lowered our heads, closed our eyes, and I spoke. In that moment, a discovery more profound than goose grease. From the heart. That is all that matters. In cooking, writing, praying, and living. Start from your heart. 

I was thankful for each person that was sat around our table, and thankful to finally make use of my pink Wedgwood china! Probably no surprise that the pattern I own is called “Old Britain Castles”…

The meal was declared 100% “Yumsch!” by the D.E.B. After pudding/dessert there was more mulled wine and music.  I’d had my iPod playing ‘American tunes’ over dinner, and at one point, as we were tidying up, there was a magical moment when the four of us paired off and slow-danced around the tiny kitchen to the Dixie Chicks’ “Landslide”. Very appropriate. (I should have put a warning at the start that this posting is not advisable for the hard-of-heart or under-romantic.)

The Songstress and I sat in front of the little fire in the front room.  We sipped whiskey, and chatted while the D.E.B. and The Music Man took out their guitars and played. The Songstress and The Music Man treated us with an amazing duet, a song he wrote for her voice. We had a little folk music sing-along to the wee hours of the morning, until we were too tired to sing anymore. A beautiful way to end an unforgettable English-American Thanksgiving.

Thrift, Thrift, Horatio

"Thrift, thrift, Horatio, the funeral bak'd meats,
did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables." - Hamlet (I.ii. 176–181)

In this famous line from Hamlet, the Danish Prince is, of course, being fiendishly sarcastic about the haste with which his mother has married his uncle, following the death of his father. However, the frugal economy Hamlet implies seems a  suggestion most apt for today, in these financially uncertain times.

India Knight is a woman of many talents, and she has inspired me yet again. Just when I thought knew what to expect from her as a writer, she comes storming out of left field. This past weekend, as the D.E.B. and I curled up with our copy of the Sunday Times, I was stunned to see her name emblazoned across the cover of the Times’ Style magazine. India is now a Style guru with a new book coming out this Thursday, extolling the virtues of being “thrifty”- The Thrift Book: Live Well and Spend Less.

Her article–based on the book—is itself a great read. India shares openly her own financial demons, such as being hounded by bailiffs, and being flat broke even at a time when she had two books on the top bestseller lists. Knight does an excellent job of assessing our “must have” culture, and outlines some very simple ways we can “kick the habit,” do better, and be better.

I was surprised to find that without even trying, by just giving into my own current, personal circumstances, I have been (largely unknowingly) “doing my bit,” becoming a better consumer, and in India’s words, “become more green.”

For example, in the section entitled “Sensible Supermarket Shopping,” Knight suggests making the following adjustments to one’s food shopping regime:

a.) Shop locally, daily, buying only precisely what you need.

b.) Shop online from a properly compiled list.

c.) “If you find yourself naturally resistant to the idea of buying discounted food because you’re middle class, get over it.”

d.) Stop shopping at “posh” supermarkets.

Living how and where I do – more or less vehicle-less in rural Warwickshire, with the world’s tiniest refrigerator – I have very few options other than to shop locally, almost daily and online.  (see previous posts: “Patience and Fortitude” and “Is this an appliance, I see before me?”)

Thankfully, the Barford community has pulled together in true English village fashion, and re-opened its Village Shop. In just under two years, the Barford community dug deep, and raised the £300,000.00 needed to build and open the new shop. The shop is gorgeous, and cost effective. It has one paid staff member. Apart from the Manager, the rest of the staff is composed entirely of community volunteers. It seems that the frugal and communal lessons of WWII continue to inspire generations of Britons, and change the face of British communities.

Ribbon-cutting ceremony at the new Village Shop

The Vicar, blessing the Shop and all who shop within her

Barford's answer to Starbucks

The D.E.B. during the Opening Day shopping spree

While basking in the glow of my newly found sense of  “how green am I,” India Knight presented me with a fresh challenge. Clothes. Now, I have to say, I have never considered myself, nor ever really aspired to be a “full-on fashionista.” That is not to suggest that I am a slouch. I like to look good, I care about my appearance, I enjoy beautiful things, and would like to think of myself as a “woman of style.” Although I have never paid $700.00 for pair of shoes, I have been known to get more than a little crazy in Anthropologie on Fifth Avenue; I weep to think of how far away I am from J. Crew, and I have never met a cashmere sweater (jumper) that I didn’t like. In her article, and I assume in her book as well, India Knight challenges her readers to re-discover thrifts shops, eBay, and to consider making their own clothing.

I have always, always loved, loved, loved thrifts shops in England, i.e., Oxfam, and the countless Hospice and Cancer Society shops that dot every large English village, hamlet or town. To me, these shops are unique in that they are actually thrift shops, whereas “thrift” or second-hand shops in NYC are really just expensive shops in disguise – dressed down, with dim lighting, dull furnishings, and microscopic dressing rooms to fool the wannabe spend-conscious shopper. (It will come as no surprise that my favorite second-hand shop in NYC is St. Luke’s Thrift Shop. It doesn’t get any better than last season Episcoplian.)

I have decided to take India at her word, and have created a “Thrift Shop Challenge” for myself. I just found out a few hours ago that I have been invited for an interview for a short-term vacancy at The Shakespeare Institute! (No one is more surprised than me.) Of course, after receiving the news, my first thought was: What will I wear? Normally, my second thought would be: www.jcrew.com. 

Here is was what I found today (weepingly) on jcrew.com. Gorgeous... 

                              The "Kate Flannel Dress" ($198.00 USD) from J.Crew.com                           (They don't deliver internationally...sniff, sniff!)

Can I be thrifty, and find a comparably fetching interview ensemble here in England without succumbing to high street offerings at the likes of Next, Laura Ashley, Monsoon or Hobbs? We shall see. My interview is in exactly 7 days from today, so the challenge is on!

     

Homesick

Busy weekend in Barford …

Thursday: Saw an amazing production of Love’s Labours Lost on Thursday night, at the Royal Shakespeare Company, with the very dishy David Tennant as Berowne. This production reminded me why I love, love, love Shakespeare. And, why I love, love, love David Tennant.

Friday: The big Claridge’s culinary evening at Stratford. We had a super time. I have decided that we need to add a new word to the English language - we need a term for the food equivalent of a hangover. I guess we could say “food hangover.” Well, whatever you call it, that’s what I had. After all that rich food and drink (braised lamb, champagne sorbet, foie gras, cognac and wine with each course) the next day my body felt like my blood was made of treacle/syrup. I couldn’t move. Thankfully, the D.E.B. and I –and our “mates” (Tabitha & Andy and Fiona & Gavin) had all arranged to stay overnight at The Stratford. So we all limped back to the “Strat” and amazingly managed a nightcap before collapsing comatose in our rooms.

Saturday: Even after a Full English Breakfast around noon, I still felt like I was going to die. D.E.B. and I went and collected the Princess Puppy from her overnight stay with our friends, Ewan and Melissa, and their two adorable angel-children, Hannah and Rachel. Came home and crashed. We woke around 7:00 PM, exhausted and STILL “food hungover.” We make a valiant effort to go to Sainsbury’s to gather sensible food, all attempts fail, when I realize and declare that the only real cure to a food hangover is Kentucky Fried Chicken. And I was right. (Just need to add that the thought, let alone the actual sight of a gorgeous English Boy holding a bucket of chicken is enough to make any Southern girl weep for joy.)

Sunday: Panic setting in. Clock running out on prep time for my “Midsummer Night’s Dream Lecture” on Tuesday morning. Too tired to work, want to spend un-comatosed day with D.E.B. Make vain attempt to look like I’m working. Too distracted by D.E.B.’s cute-ness and Classic FM. In the afternoon, 3 PM - off to Newbold Comyn where D.E.B. is performing at a Charity event, “Ramble for Ruby” a benefit for 13 year old Ruby, who has cancer. Sunday evening, back to Stratford College for Diane Ponzio concert.

Diane Ponzio is fabulous! She has this incredible gift of making each person in her audience feel like she is singing to/for them. And she never forgets a face/name. It was so good to hear her last night. She’s a proud, Italian, New Yorker. That accent. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it. But, It didn’t make me feel sad, it made me feel proud. The D.E.B. is a huge Diane Ponzio fan, and the feeling seems mutual. She gave him a huge hug, and let him have a go on her priceless, mahogany Martin guitar. She hugged me, and said: “You did it!”

Diane and I had spoken on the phone while I was still living in NYC. Oddly, though I’d never met her, during our phone call, I felt that I knew her. That she was someone I could confide in and lean on. I’d told her about my then dilemma (soon to be plans) about leaving NYC, leaving NYU to join the D.E.B. in England. “Honey. Do it.” She’d said in that warm, comforting voice. “Do it. He’s a doll. And love is all we got. The rest is just illusion.” There are conversations that change us, and this was one of them for me.

Seeing Diane last night, all I could do was hug her and say, “Thank you.” “Why are you thanking me,” she smiled, “you did it.” With a twinkle in her eye, she teased me: “You homesick? Of course you’re not, you got your 'home' right here next to ya.”

A Foggy Day in Barford ...

Strange start to the day. Low fog on a day that promised sunshine. Somehow matches my mood. Feeling a bit uninspired with myself. One of those "Have I bitten off more than I can chew" days. What do I even know about writing fiction?I know nothing. I am flying by the seat of my pants (trousers), as usual. The D.E.B. and I had a lovely evening last night. Long walk with Lucy, beers at The Granville, then home for "tea" (dinner). D.E.B. so supportive, so encouraging. Wanted to hear all about the new novel idea, my latest conquest, what is sure to be the next, great bestseller. (His words, not mine.)

     

                                                                                                                                                                                                                            I find his love, his faith in me so remarkable. It is so complete, so unconditional, so judgement-free and open. To say that it is "blind faith" sounds a bit negative and naive, and it is so much more than that. And means so much more to me. He believes in my "gifts," more than I do! So, as I sat in the bright, sunny warmth of his faith, I rambled on all night long about my character ideas, my plot line, my narrative twists, etc., etc.  I worked myself into such a lather, I found it hard to sleep! And now, today, this morning, as I sit and stare at my very blank computer screen, thinking to myself, who am I kidding? What on earth am I doing? Or, as the English would say, "What am I playing at?"

Listening to Classic FM, today is the anniversary of the birth of the legendary, phenomenal American composer, George Gershwin. (Wouldn't you just die without Gershwin?)

"A foggy day, in London town, had me low, had me down."

Perfect lyrics from one of my all time favo(u)rite Gershwin tunes. I guess even the great Gershwin had days like this...

Lazy Sunday

Having a lazy Sunday morning, listening to Classic FM. 

D.E.B. up and out early -- no lazy lie-in together for us today. The Darling English Boy is in the studio this morning, recording a demo CD with musician pal, Ewan. D.E.B. and Ewan have formed a folk duo, part-time only, just a hobby at this point. They are quite good in fact. Went along and heard them at the Warwick Folk Club, the other week. That was fun! 

So, I find myself at home alone with "the furry girls" (Lucy & Lily).  I am in fact pleased to have a bit of "me" time. Its been quite a hectic week. Okay, not anywhere near NYC-hectic, but hectic for me nonetheless.

I received a call from the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust on Thursday afternoon offering me my first lecturing gig with them. A bit of short notice as they needed me to fill in for a lecture on Saturday morning.  Yikes, I thought. Thankfully, a lecture on the performance history of A Midsummer Night's Dream was all that was needed. A joy for me, really. I am completely at home with the material, my angst was centered/centred on the logistics. It was a question of prep time -- always a dilemma for me.  Prior to getting "The Call," I had planned to spend my Friday at the Throckmorton Literary Festival at Coughton Court. I was dying to go along to the Festival as it looked to be an extraordinary event, and a chance for a bit of research for the new idea for a novel that is currently rolling around my head. The question was whether I would forego the "research" visit to Coughton Court, in favor of prepping for the Dream lecture. This dilemma was/is far more existential than it seems. At the moment, in the midst of this new and exciting life, I am routinely pulling myself in two directions. 

As an academic, I have written and published a number of "scholarly" works. Basically, three (3) very good, learned, and highly over-priced books that few people have read, and even fewer have bought.  And like most academics, I have dreams, hopes and ambitions beyond that. As I told the D.E.B. when he first offered this incredible opportunity to me to have the space and time to "rediscover myself as a writer," I said to him: "Let me just assure you, I am not sitting on the next Harry Potter..." (To which he just smiled "that smile," and hugged me.) But, I do have a story inside my head that I really want to tell. And, as J. K. Rowling once said, oh, so, wisely, I think, all one must do is: "Believe in your story." Whether anyone else will believe it, or believe in it, is of course another very significant matter to contemplate, but I think Rowling is right to suggest that that initial belief and commitment to ones own idea/dream, etc. is vital. However, while I am taking these tentative steps into the "real writers" writerly world, I can hear the serious, uptight, respectful voice of academe crying out: "But is it scholarship? Is it tripe?" and, "What a waste of a first-class education!"

To be honest, it does feel like "play" -- my dreams of writing fiction. And surely, at my age, at this point in my career, I should be doing more "meaningful" work. But, its funny isn't it? How the word 'meaningful' changes over time. I have worked very hard over the years. I worked my way through graduate school temp-ing, waitressing, whatever I could find. And comforted myself with my lofty and "meaningful" goals. I was then lucky enough to score some freelance teaching gigs, built my resume, got my Ph.D. and tah-dah! Academe! But something was missing. There was a place inside me that no matter how much joy I gleaned from teaching -- and joy I did glean, daily. And God, I did and do love my students, each and every one! -- but there was what felt like a hole in my soul. A feeling that I was not and had not been utterly true to myself. But I stayed on the treadmill, kept running the race, the years trickled by and "the hole" just got bigger and bigger. Then, the classic female dilemma: family or career? Biological clock, and so forth. Then, again, the classic life dilemma: do what you love, or shoot for success -- as often these two are not the same thing. 

As my 39th year loomed in the distance, I feared my destiny had been set. I would end up alone, and disappointed, single, but successful in the City. But all of the changed, in a heartbeat. As sickeningly sweet, the English would say "twee," as it sounds, love changed everything. Yes, it is a huge gamble. As friends and family have (and continue to) lovingly remind me, I have taken a unimaginable risk in packing in my job, packing up my life, and moving to England on a promise of love. But, what is life without risk?  

 

Living on the edge, as I now do, I decided to follow my gut/heart and spend Friday at Coughton Court. And what a day it was! Difficult to explain here, but I had what I'd like to think is a "writer's instinct" that I would be inspired by the surroundings at Coughton Court for the story I want to write, and I was absolutely right!!!! And I met some fabulous people there to boot. Excellent, excellent day. Research, of a very different and interactive kind. 

Came home, completely exhausted, didn't get started on my lecture prep until around 9 PM on Friday night. Yikes, again! Panic set in almost immediately. What was I thinking! Pratting around Coughton Court all day when I should have been prepping...I burned the midnight oil, got the lecture together, and then tried unsuccessfully to sleep. D.E.B. woke me at 7:00 AM with a cup of tea on my bedside table, just as I had drifted off to sleep. Darling that he is, he rushed about taking care of the "livestock" and cooking breakfast as I fretted about what to wear. I entered the kitchen to be showered with much-needed praise, and was handed a fresh cup of tea and a hot bacon buttie (sandwich). The poor boy had no idea that at this point the very thought of food had me on the brink of hurling. He then drove me into Stratford-upon-Avon and dropped me off at Starbucks (Yes! There is one!). As I walked down Henley Street with my Grande Soy Latte in hand, I realized I was going to be okay. I also realized  -- and not at all in an arrogrant way --  that I probably have forgotten more about Shakespeare and A Midsummer Night's Dream than these kids will ever know. (Okay, most of it is probably just useless information and mindless trivia, but still.) 

So, as it turned out my first lecture for The Trust was for a delightful group of "Drama Majors" from the Midwest. Sassy Americans. Excellent. Just my sort of crowd. They were warm, attentive, engaging and receptive. Of course, it is, as they say, like riding a bicycle. And I really like this bicycle, it's all new, red and shiny!