"Keep Christmas with you all through the year"*

I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays! One of my favorite things to do this time of year is to make sugar cookies with my niece and nephews...and this year I had my own little one with me. Granted, The Boy is still too little to really enjoy the whole cookie-making experience, but I couldn't leave him out just because of that.

As the kids grow, the cookies just get better and better. And we even had a gingerbread house to decorate too.

Can you guess which ones are mine?

*David Axlerod and Sam Pottle

"Plant your hope with good seeds"*

The hubby and I tried kale for the first time today. It was scary not only because I was trying something new (I've never been an adventurous foodie) but also because I also had to clean and cook it myself. Turns out, kale is actually pretty good. I think we may even eat it again.

A bunch of it came in our first farm share basket of the year. We signed up for the farm share in part to support our local farm, in part to have access to fresh veggies every Friday without having to go to the grocery store, and in part to try new healthy things.

I love this time of year for all the fresh produce that is available...I'm talking hyper-local produce, like the kind you can pick yourself and enjoy right in the field (I'm looking forward to the fresh strawberries I'll be picking this weekend at another local farm).

I even have my own veggie garden, which is not nearly as big as my father's, but it works for the hubby and I. This year I'm growing peas (I picked the first ones today and added them to the salad we had with dinner), bell peppers, broccoli, tomatoes, and probably green beans.

It's not that I'm a super healthy, granola-eating, tree-hugging person. I do care about the environment and try to make an effort to be green, but I really like the way fresh food tastes. And I've been trying to subscribe to the idea that when you put good things in (whether that be into your body or mind), good things come out (and yes, I see the obvious poop reference here, but that's not what I'm talking about).

So I'm working on putting good thoughts into my writing, and hopefully getting good writing out of it. And putting good food into my body, and hopefully getting good energy out of it. And putting good green vibes out to the earth, and hopefully making the world a little better place in which to live. Okay, now I am starting to sound a little granolaey.

What do you put in and hope to get out of it?

*Mumford & Sons

"C Is For Cookie"*

It just wouldn't have been a complete Christmas without making cookies with the nephews and niece. I love to see the creativity come out of each of them in different ways.

(This is just a sampling of the cookies we made. I don't think any of them are mine. I played around with different combinations of black and white frosting this year.)

My 11-year-old nephew is my writing buddy. We pack up our laptops and head out to the local cafe or Barnes & Noble and work on our projects (and eat too). He has a fast mind that's always churning away, so he works feverishly on projects (and sometimes has trouble finishing them). He has always liked to draw figures, from baseball players to super-heroes, so it was no surprise that he turned some of the cookies into his favorite music artists.

My 5-year-old niece is a girl's girl. She loves princesses, her favorite colors are pink and purple, and she often compliments me on a cute shirt or accessory. She is also very creative and passionate in her pursuits, especially drawing and coloring. She was the last kid standing when it came to decorating.

My 4-year-old nephew is what I like to call mechanically creative. He's a very literal little boy, who watches and explores how things move and work. He is also super sweet and indulges his auntie when she asks for a little "sugar" (hug and kisses) or to eat his cheeks, which have the cutest dimples. He tends to be very methodical with his creations.

(From left to right: we have Squidword as made by my little nephew, a trendy snow lady complete with rosy cheeks courtesy of my niece, and Michael Jackson as envisioned by my older nephew.)

Naturally I forgot to bring my camera this year, so thanks to my mom (and here is where my brother would say, "Thanks to your mom!") for the pictures. What are your favorite traditions?

*Joe Raposo (as sung by Cookie Monster)

"The Little Things Give You Away"*

Sometimes it's nice just to think about the little things in life that bring you joy. Here are some of mine:

My favorite tea has a kick-ass name: Black Dragon Pearl (I always want to add "Coming to theaters this summer" after I say it and then do a perfect round-house kick). Plus the tea leaves come packed as balls, which only adds to my amusement.

Thunderstorms never stop being scary/exciting.

When it comes to my indoor co-ed soccer team, the "that's what she said" joke never gets old...ever!

The spin-cycle on my Scandinavian dryer (maybe we're somehow related!) sounds like a plane taking off. This one's a double-edged sword because it can also be annoying...like when I'm trying to watch TV or listen to music, or you know, have a conversation or something...but it's still pretty cool to have it sound like an airplane is taking off in your laundry room.

When my little niece and nephew say the word "rude," it sounds like they're saying "wooed." And they're still young enough to always be happy to see me.

My older nephew still likes hanging out with me!

I buy Land O' Lakes American cheese from the deli and the package is labeled LOL cheese. How could you not smile about that?

I'm always wonderfully surprised at how tasty food is when you grow/pick it yourself.

And this is only a sampling of the little things in my life. It's interesting how many of them are about food...maybe I'm just hungry. Oh, and in case you were curious, my soccer team won again yesterday (we crushed Danbury 6-1), so we're in the finals next Saturday.

*Linkin Park

"I'm packing my bags for the Misty Mountains"*

If you've ever seen pictures or footage of St. Lucia (or if you watched the last season of The Bachelor), chances are you've seen the Piton Mountains. They consist of two distinct volcanic peaks in the southwest corner of the island. They're a World Heritage Site and a symbol of St. Lucia. In a word, they're gorgeous.

The local Piton beer (which is very tasty...I liken it to Corona, but more refreshing and with no need for a lime slice...perfect for a hot day) is named after the two peaks, the taller of which is called the Gros Piton and the smaller of which is called the Petit Piton. Based on the picture below, can you guess which is which?

If you guessed the one on the right is the Gros Piton, you're wrong! A close look at the label on the Piton beer will tell you what the locals call the mountains...the Mystic Mountains (I know, I know, the title of the post says Misty Mountains!). They call them this because of the phenomenon that is displayed in the above photo; every new view of the Piton Mountains gives you a different perspective of them.

That may seem like an obvious statement...duh, every new view of object will give you a different perspective of it, but the the Pitons take it to a whole new level. It's like they move, grow, and shrink.

Sometimes they look really close together, like you could jump from one to the other, and other times they look really far apart (they are really about a mile apart). Then you'll round a corner and the one that had previously been on the right is now on the left. It's really quite extraordinary they way they morph.

*Led Zeppelin

"Fill up the stocking"*

Holiday traditions come in all shapes in sizes. As a kid, one of my favorite Christmas traditions was when Santa would leave our filled stockings for us at the end of our beds. It was so exciting to wake up on Christmas morning and not even have to get out of bed to find our first presents.

All five of us (my two older sisters, me, my younger sister, and my younger brother) used to gather together on one bed and open up all out stocking gifts. As my older sisters got older, us younger kids used to open up our stockings first, then we'd go wake up my older sisters and watch them open up their stockings. This was a nice tradition for my parents too because it meant they got to sleep in a little later.

Oh, and we always got oranges in our stockings, which seems like it would be lame, but I remember it as a nice treat. The orange-in-the-stocking tradition is one that carried over into my adult life (it seems Santa remembers about such things even as we get older). Many of the traditions I had as a kid have faded away, but many new ones have taken their places.

Making Christmas cookies with my niece and nephew is one of those new, but at the same time old, traditions. I used to make Christmas cookies with my Nana (my great grandmother). Then she stopped coming up north for the holidays because it was just too cold for her. She passed away at the ripe old age of 96, but I feel a little like I'm carrying on her tradition in a new way with my sister's kids.

Unlike last year, we didn't have any lady-licking incidences this year, but I paid homage to that by making a snowman and gingerbread lady the centerpiece of my cookies.

(These are the cookies I decorated...notice the snowman and his gingerbread wife.)

(My ten-year-old nephew decorated these cookies. He and his friend also made a really cool gingerbread house of Hagrid's hut, but I forgot to take a picture of it.)

(My four-year-old niece decorated these. She was very meticulous and seemed to have a grand plan for each one.)

(These ones were decorated by my three-year-old nephew...he did most of the decorating by himself, but my sister did give him some help with the big gingerbread lady!)

(And because I didn't want my sister to feel left out, here's her cookies, including the big gingerbread lady.)

It was definitely a fun afternoon. What are your favorite holiday traditions?

*Jerry Herman

"Had to knock on wood"*

If winter in New England is long and harsh, summer in New England is short and hot, and spring in New England is cool and rainy, then fall in New England may just be the perfect season. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a summer baby and have no problem playing soccer in 90-degree heat, but fall has a certain magical quality about it here in CT.

I love the fresh crispness of the air contrasted with the earthy scent of decay, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the full moon clear in the sky, the spicy sweetness of apple cider, and the bite of a cool breeze on the tip of my nose and ears.

The temperature is pleasant (64 degrees today), the sun is usually shining (except for the October I got married when it poured for a full 13 days, leading right up to my wedding day…if rain on your wedding day is good luck, then I must have the best marriage luck in the world), and there’s plenty of fun fall activities.

I’ve already gone apple picking at Bishop's Orchard, and I plan on making some great pies. Oh, and I got fresh apple-cider doughnuts, which were awesome. I have yet to pick—okay, not so much pick as in harvest, but pick as in select—pumpkins, but that’s definitely on the to-do list. There are also corn mazes, great hiking weather, and all the great fall foliage to check out. Of course, there are all the different haunted activities in the area as well.

Yep, fall is quite wonderful around here (knock on wood because I don’t want to jinx it!).

*The Mighty Mighty Bosstones

"Go down to the lake of fire"*

WaterFire Providence is an interactive work of art that was designed by Barnaby Evans. It consists of 100 iron braziers that seem to defy physics as they float on three rivers in downtown Providence. The fires are lit at sunset and keep going until after midnight.

(Here's Waterplace Park in the daytime. You can see the braziers are stacked with wood. On the left is the Courtyard Marriott and on the right is the Westin Hotel. Even more buildings have been put up since this picture was taken a few years ago. This area of Providence has gone through a real growth period over the last ten years.)

The WaterFire experience is really something that can't be described, but I'll give it a try. Imagine a communal ritual based around fire—very natural and primal—but in a modern, urban setting. The juxtaposition is part of the beauty. In order to really appreciate the full work of art, the hubby and I walk down the riverside in a slow procession of people, surrounded by the sounds, smells, and sights of city and art. For once, I don't mind having to take a minute to pause and experience all the moment has to offer. All my senses are engaged.

(Here's the park at night from a different angle. Providence Place Mall is in the background.)

Sight is obvious. The bright orange flames glow in the braziers, reflecting off the inky waters. Bright ash flits by us. The boats move up and down the river: the pontoons full of people, the romantic gondola designed for two, and the staff boat with the black-clad volunteers that steal up to the braziers like some kind of fire phantoms. Then there's the city scape: the Bank of America Building (locally known as the Superman Building), which always reminds me of Dana's apartment building in Ghostbusters; the cars driving by; the mall; the people; the bridges; and all those the city lights. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the street performers dressed as gargoyles and fortune-tellers.

Smell is pretty obvious too, given that the scent of fire is pretty distinct. These fires smell of pine and cedar. But there's also the city smells: car exhaust, street vendors, and all those unidentifiable, funky smells that are part of city life.

Sound is prevalent as well. The wood cackles and pops as the flames hit air pockets, and the musical program that is part of the art experience echoes along the walkway (my favorite song this visit is Chopin's "Nocturne No. 8 in D flat major" performed by Daniel Barenboim). And of course, there's the sounds of the city: car horns, the shuffle of feet along the walkway, quiet murmurs of the crowd, and the whir of motors of both cars and boats.

Touch is more subtle. The fires send a wave of warmth across my skin. A light breeze blows my hair around my face. The stone walkway is cool and uneven beneath my sandals.

Taste is the most elusive sense. On this trip, I have the delicious memory of the previous night's dinner. The hubby and I went to Constantino's on Federal Hill. We started with carpaccio (which neither of us had ever eaten) and some Riesling. Then I had gnocchi and the hubby had chicken parmigiana. Both were awesome! For dessert, I had a cannoli platter...of course! But none of that really has anything to do with the WaterFires. Sure, there's a bunch of restaurants along the rivers, but I want a better connection between taste and fire. Well, the program informs me that Indian Buddhists believe the element water is associated with taste (fire is sight, earth is smell, and air is touch).

Even with having to stretch a little for taste, it was still a lovely evening.

*Meat Puppets

"We were walking up to strawberry swing"*

The taste of summer is a sweet Popsicle, the way it sticks to your tongue for just a moment before it melts and the juices slip down your throat. Maybe even better than that is the glug of an ice-cold beer pouring from the can, its bubbles tickling your tongue and throat. Even better still is a perfectly cooked hot dog right off the grill, blackened just enough so that it crunches as you bite into its hot, juicy meat.

But hands down, without a doubt, better than all of those treats (no matter how you personally rate them) is the strawberry, and not just any strawberry. I'm talking the perfect strawberry picked with your very own hands from a picturesque field on a sunny hill. The strawberry that was so plump and red you slipped it into your mouth before you even thought of dropping it into the bucket with the others.

In that first bite, you taste the sun-kissed sweetness. The flavor explodes in your mouth and you think Oh, forgive me, strawberry, for ever cooking you or putting you in the refrigerator. I'll never again taint you with pies, ice cream, or cake. Then the tang bites your tongue. Taste buds you forgot you had wake up and scream in pleasure and you think This is better than...(I'll let you fill in the blank). Mmmmm...oh, sorry, I think I was drooling a little.

I had just such a strawberry the other day at Jones Family Farm. My husband and I had gone on one of our pick-your-own excursions (we also do this with apples at Bishop's Orchard in the fall and of course with the veggies in our own garden all summer long). There's nothing like harvesting your own food and serving it to those you love.

Also at the farm was one little girl who I'm sure understands the camaraderie offered by this activity (although she may not experience the taste of the strawberry in quite the same way as an adult). I don't know her real name, but I affectionately refer to her as Olivia in my head.

She was picking strawberries with her mom and they were in a row next to a woman who was probably a little bit older than the mom. Olivia chatted with the older woman in the frank manner of a friendly little kid. The woman finished picking and said good-bye. She made it a few rows away before Olivia spoke in a voice as sweet and perfect as the strawberries themselves, "Enjoy your strawberries." Enjoy, indeed!

*Coldplay

"Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden, sprung in completeness where his feet pass"*

In some areas of Connecticut the temperature was in the low 90s on Tuesday. In those same areas last night the temperature got down to the low 30s. For all of you math geniuses that’s a 60-degree swing in less than 48 hours. Welcome to New England!

My hometown is on the water, so it tends to be a bit more temperate. But still, weather in Connecticut is kind of ridiculous sometimes. Despite the cool temperature last night, today is holding firmly in the 60s with a mix of sun and clouds. In other words, spring has finally taken root.

That means my daffodils are blooming,

my bleeding hearts are gaining steam,

and my pea plants are growing, growing, growing (which is just in time because the other day I used up the last of the frozen peas from last year's crop).

Now I’m off to enjoy the nice weather (while it lasts!).

*Cat Stevens

"Oh, oh, listen to the music, all the time"*

While I was in New York City, I had some time to wander around (okay, hobble around...curse my stupid medial meniscus!). I was in the mood for a cannoli, so I hopped on the subway (thank you hopstop.com) and headed to Veneiro's Bakery. There seems to be a lot of debate about where to get a good cannoli in Manhattan, but I'm not really that picky. Honestly, can a cannoli really be bad?

I bought six mini cannolis and a little kiwi tart-thingy. The tart reminded me of one of the desserts my husband and I had eaten at the beach barbecue buffet in Tahiti. Ahhh, Tahiti. Just thinking of it makes me so relaxed...

Oh, sorry, was I talking about something...oh, right, cannolis. So I took my pastries and headed back in the direction of the subway station. I passed a church that had a bunch of benches in front of it. Its gates were open and a sign said that the church didn't close until 1:00 a.m., so I found a nice spot to sit and enjoy the weather.

I didn't think to check what the name of the church was, but I managed to locate it later on google maps with their street view option. (It's scary how easy it is to see real street views on that website. Is nothing private anymore?) I was at St. Mark's Church in the Bowery.

I had a book, my kiwi tart, and a cannoli. I had brought my iPod with me, but I found I didn't need it. Now, I've noticed that a lot of my peers--and sadly those from a younger generation--are permanently attached to their music players. Don't get me wrong, I love my iPod. But it has a place and a time.

On this particular occasion, I didn't need it. I had the music of the city to listen to. Someone was playing a harmonica. That I couldn't see this person made it even better. It was music from nowhere, or maybe it was from everywhere. There was the constant chatter of the street: engines, horns, shouts. The shuffle of families, artists, wanderers coming and going. The soft coo of those rats-with-wings (also known as pigeons).

At some point the harmonica's music stopped, but I didn't even notice because a guitar picked up right in its place. Then a young woman came and sat a little ways in front of me. She was on her phone. Her tone was serious, angry, sad. "You're just like lawyer. Always lying...I just can't keep doing this with you."

She soon left and a young couple took her place. They didn't talk much because they were sharing a serving of what looked like fried clams. Still, the crunch of the Styrofoam container, their soft chewing and little murmurs reached my ears. The church bells tolled, reminding me I had a critique appointment and a bum knee that made travel in the city a slow process.

Alas, I had lingered long enough with my music. It was time to go find a new song.

*Doobie Brothers

"You are the apple of my eye"*

While perusing Lisa Yee's blog, I came across her post about spilling rice pudding all over the streets of NYC. Alas, this made me think of the time my mom and I were making apple pies. Now, I play soccer and consider myself a pretty coordinated person, but when it comes to cooking and holding breakable things, I am a bit of a klutz. My mom once had me carry a giant glass bowl filled with salad to a party. It never made it there. I dropped the bowl and spilled the salad all over the road while I was trying to close the car door. Another time I mixed (not with the electric mixer, mind you...I was mixing with just a wooden spoon) a ceramic bowl full of cookie dough right off the table.

These little incidents were nothing compared to the apple-pie debacle. So my mom and I had peeled, sliced, seasoned, and placed the apples in the crusts. I believe she was making one pie and I was making two. I also believe some of the apples were ones that I had picked with my own two hands (apple-picking is a great New England activity for the fall). The pies were baked, and all I had to do was take them out of the oven and let them cool. Then I would be able to eat my awesome delicious homemade apple pies. Easier said than done.

Because we were making three pies, there wasn't enough glass pie pans for them all, so one of my pies had to go in a tin pan. So I've got the big awkward pot holders in my hands, I reach into the oven, and I pull out the pie in the tin pan. I have to walk maybe four steps to the kitchen table to place the pie on the cooling rack. Well, somewhere during that four steps the pie pan decided to fold in on itself, slip through my hands, and fall on the ground. Now this sucks, but a squished apple pie still might be edible (and really yummy!). Only the pie pan somehow flipped upside down and deposited my apple pie on the floor.

I pretty much lost it. A hot mess of apple mush on the kitchen floor is not exactly edible (though still potentially yummy...but possibly with some kitchen-floor extras in it). I growled in frustration and stomped into the living room. I know I'm a klutz when it comes to breakables, so I was being really careful with the pies. How was I supposed to anticipate that the pie pan was going to fail me? It wasn't just that I wasn't going to be able to eat the pie, either. I had spent all that time and energy on these stupid apples; my hand were still aching from all the slicing and peeling, and it was all a waste. The pie was a mess on the floor and not a delicious treat in my belly.

Thankfully, my mom cleaned up the mess, so I didn't have to deal with the pie any longer (thanks, Mom!). I ranted for a little while about calling up the tin pan company and complaining about their faulty products, but of course I never actually did that. This taught me the important lesson of never using cheap, crappy tin pans for something as important as homemade apple pie. Luckily, this year's apple pies have all ended up where they were supposed to (i.e. in someone's belly). Although, I may never get over losing that one pie!

*Stevie Wonder

"I have found all that shimmers in this world is sure to fade away"*

It was a sad day when I learned Paul’s famous hamburger stand closed. In an article in the local newspaper, the owner—a guy whose name isn’t Paul—said the cost of running the business was too much. There was no warning, no big closing-our-doors party, no last chance to get a juicy cheeseburger, an order of mozzarella sticks, and a chocolate shake. Here one day, gone the next.

Paul’s wasn’t just a hamburger stand; it was a testament to an old way of life when serving a product of quality was king. My dad used to take us kids there all the time. During the Christmas season, he would give out $10 Paul’s gift certificates like they were business cards. The employees always knew his name, and they learned mine once I started going there on my own. The stand’s motto said it all, "Not serving numbers but generations."

More than just the loss of a hamburger joint, though, Paul’s closing is a poignant reminder of how transient life is. It reminds me of when Harrison’s Hardware (the local hardware store that was around for over 90 years…I worked there while in high school and met my husband there) closed. It reminds me that Yankee Stadium will be torn down soon.

Yet as symbolic as these things are and as sad it is to lose them, they are just that: things. And worse than losing the things you love is losing the people you love. Still, I really do believe that humans are creatures of habit, and change, while inevitable, is unsettling. Without it, though, we wouldn’t have that little reminder to hold on tight to those things (and people) we love. Try not to take them for granted while they’re here because one day they won’t be.

*Fuel

"California! Here we come!"*

The major cities I’ve been to include New York, Boston, Washington D.C., Miami, and London, and it was finally time for me to see what Los Angeles had to offer. Seeing as I spent most of my time in the bottom floors of a large, climate-controlled hotel, my visit to L.A. wasn’t as immersive as some of my other trips. Even still, I formed plenty of opinions on the city (of course!).

My plane took off in the early evening (East Coast time) and followed the setting sun west. We chased it across the country in an everlasting sunset until it dipped below the horizon and the quiet night caught up with us. I almost believed the enduring sunlight was a metaphor for how my trip would turn out—forgive me for my weak moment of Romanticism. If I had been thinking clearly, I would’ve realized the darkness would eventually come, and then my metaphor wouldn’t have seemed so optimistic.

It didn’t matter anyway because as the plane approached LAX and descended into a smoky, black cloud, all my sappy thoughts were quickly dispelled. At first I thought it was a storm cloud, but underneath it there was no lightning or rain, and then I realized it must be a smog cloud. I wondered what sort of unseen storm the smog was unleashing, and what impact it would have on my lungs.

Despite the smog, the city appears to be quite health-conscious. The Westfield mall that is across the street from the hotel (which shows what a small world it is because there is a Westfield mall about five minutes from my house in Connecticut) has an interesting food court. All eat-in food is served on real dishes, and the drinks come in real glasses. The mall near my house almost always serves the food and drinks (eat-in or take-out) in disposable containers.

The food selection is also on the healthier side. As I walked across the food court with my tray of pizza and orange soda, I got the feeling that people were staring at me in disdain (like I’m a bad person for eating something so greasy and delicious). Even the shelves of the grocery store are filled with all kinds of health foods that are usually only found in small, specially marked sections in the grocery stores I frequent.

My favorite indication of the differences in lifestyles between East and West Coast occurred during one of the conference sessions. (Did I forget to mention I was there for a writing conference?). An editor from New York mentioned how she often munches on fried-egg sandwiches while reading manuscripts. The moderator of the discussion said something like, "That’s a very East Coast thing to say." Then she joked that an editor in California would be more likely to review manuscripts over a soy burger (ew!).

The soy-burger comment was made in good fun, but I couldn’t help but feel it legitimized my insecurities of walking through the food court. I was all alone, holding food that told everyone I wasn’t from around here, wearing clothes and sunglasses that weren’t designer brands, and feeling like it was my first day at a new school and I had no one to sit with in the cafeteria. At least I had remembered to take off my name badge…that would’ve really showed them what a nerd I am.

*Phantom Planet

"Well, I woke up this morning, and I got myself a beer"*

The technology that has gone into beer containers of late is quite impressive. Coors seems to be the leader in the industry. They first came out with the wide-mouth beer can in 1996. Contrary to what I thought, it was not designed to allow for faster beer chugging, but was created to give drinkers an experience that was closer to drinking beer out of a glass. Go figure. I didn't know people actually drank beer for the taste!

Earlier this year Coors introduced the venting beer can. You may have seen the commercial where a guy lets his girlfriend think that his buddy needs to emotionally vent when the guys really just want to pore over some vented beer cans (pun intended!). (I won't even digress into the absurdity of commercials like that...please, don't get me started). Like the wide-mouth can, this technology was designed to give the beer a smoother feel. Coors is also the company behind the temperature indicator on beer labels. Their signature Rocky Mountains turns from white to blue when the beer is cold enough to drink. So much for good-old common sense.

My favorite invention has to be the self-cooling beer can. This little beauty--created by a company called Tempra Technology--uses all kinds of scientific principles (vacuums, evaporation, gels, etc...) to give you the pleasure of a can that cools your beer to the perfect temperature in just three minutes. Finally, someone has found a way to save me all that time I spend waiting for my beer to cool. Maybe they'll even put a little voice recorder on the can to tell me when it's ready.

Don't worry; all you have to do is twist the base of the can. Supposedly, it's all environmentally friendly and won't contaminate the flavor of the beer (again with the whole flavor thing). I even read that you can throw the can on a fire and it won't explode! I know, what a disappointment.

Now, imagine if all this thought, creativity, and innovation were applied to something useful...say to reverse global warming or discover a new power source. Wow, we could solve all the world problems in no time! But really, who needs that...not when you have perfectly cold beer pouring out of a vented can in three minutes. Did I mention I was a wine drinker?

*The Doors

"You Can't Always Get What You Want"*

One thing about visiting London that always excites me is knowing that tea is the norm. (I know it doesn't take much to excite me...really people, it's about the little things in life.) I've never been much of a coffee drinker; I love the smell of it, not so much the taste. When you order tea at most restaurants in America, the teacups are more appropriate for my three-year-old niece than for a grown adult and the water is less than hot. They know how to serve it in London: boiling hot water, a variety of tea bags for the picking, full-sized mugs, and natural sugar--none of that fake sweetener for me, thank you very much.

I never thought it would be difficult to get tea in London. My husband didn't have any trouble. Every morning that he went to breakfast alone (he was alone because I hadn't arrived in London yet...not because I don't like eating with him!), the waitress offered him tea as soon as he was seated. Every morning I ate with him, we made our selections from the buffet, prepared toast, returned to the table, and ate half our food. And still, no tea!

On a bit of a diversion, continental breakfast is definitely worth it if you ever stay in London. Even if the hotel charges a little extra for the privilege, pay it. There's hot food (admittedly the runny eggs, the weird boiled-tomato thing, and the sausage that doesn't really taste like sausage are a little scary), Danishes, toast, cereal, cut fruit, whole fruit, juice, milk....you get the point. And there's always the opportunity to take an extra roll and banana for later. Just be a little more discreet about it than one lady I saw. She had her big plastic bag right on top of the table and was shoveling in the food.

Back to the issue at hand. It wasn't as if the waiters weren't diligent about serving tea; they went to every other table about every five minutes. I must look too young and too American to be much of a tea drinker. Appearances can be deceiving. Give me some tea already! Eventually, I would have to ask and they would fill my cup with delicious, piping hot tea. I wonder if it would have tasted so good if I didn't have to wait.

*Rolling Stones