About TeaandBonnets

The author of this blog is currently daydreaming in an office about a professional life that involves the following: - Typing something that isn't a repeat PowerPoint - Dogs, dogs, dogs and sometimes cats - Beauty in the eye of the beholder, but never in corporate revenue figures -Mixing up warm beverages and the freedom to wear the occasional bonnet

When the cat is away

Posted on October 31, 2014 by TeaandBonnets

I am wiping the sleep out of my eyes as I froth the first cappuccino of the day. But harsh fingers do add years to the delicate eye area, so I stop.

I stretch my arms and relish the delicious thoughts of how to occupy the many hours of the day ahead. When your partner is out of town, suddenly all kinds of possibilities are available. I can give myself a manicure without offending any delicate nostrils; or read hours of subtitles on screens filled with tortured Danes, without any commentary rising from the sofa; or enjoy bread as the only course for all three meals of the day.

My steaming mug and I head out to the front porch. Cinnamon and espresso scents coupled with the light marijuana fragrance of the apartment next door set the ambiance. The coffee tastes even better than usual in my new ceramic cup, another partner-out-of-town impulse buy. It is curvy and bright, grandiosely floral, and will definitely require pinkie finger lifting if used correctly.

There is an exhibit on 19th century ballerinas I could see, while reminiscing about my excellent moon-walking abilities. It’s all about having the right shoes. Or, I could eat grilled cheese at the hip coffee shop with the romantic vine-covered façade. And gaze longingly at young cherubic faces, wondering if their cheek stain is available online.

I breathe in deeply and realize how relaxed one can feel when wake-up time doesn’t rely on the alarm clock. It is almost lunchtime, which means I had better start my heavy-duty enjoyment. Anchovies! Something I love and everyone else hates – what better time to gorge myself? Baguette, darkest of the dark chocolate tarts. And more carbs. I need to go to the bakery. All without disgusting anyone else in my home.

Up, up, off the chair. Stretch arms to the sky; back down to my toes, let head hang. Now, come back up and feel at peace. I walk back inside and put the cup in the sink. It’s a tough choice: wash the mug or change out of pajamas.

I head up the stairs to my room and dive face first onto the bed. So soft. Such a pleasing lemon scent. Staying right here is how this mouse really plays.

Halloween is here

Posted on September 30, 2014 by TeaandBonnets

It is a beautiful fall morning. Even through the frosted glass panes on the door I can see a leaf or two landing gently onto the back deck. My orange and yellow walking shoes are laced tightly, and my jeans are cuffed just so to avoid skirting the ground. I have been ready to go for some time.

But for the past four and a half minutes, I’ve been sitting cross-legged on the kitchen tiles, leash wrapped around my thumb, pondering the great outdoors, from indoors. At the end of the leash is a redhead who rolls onto his back and cavorts for a few seconds on the floor. He suddenly rises, shakes the dust off, and plants a nice wet one on my cheek. He’s quite the scamp, now that he knows he has won the battle: no venturing outside today.

For outside, there are leaves. And they come in big waves sometimes, one after the other, landing in front of you, behind you, and occasionally on your shoulder. Cheeky little things! And then there are flags. The kind that stand on front porches and in front of French cafés, and are sometimes just a little too big. But the real terror is on a windy day, when they decide to start fluttering angrily and swish so loudly. Why won’t someone put these things away in a box in the attic?

But what one should really dread are the bus people, in their honking metal boxes that grunt at every step, winding slowly down the road in their enormity. That awful squawk when the boxes come to a stop. Then crowds of humans rushing out, and just as many rushing in. No one stops or slows down, to create space on the sidewalk for a four-legged redhead who sits close to the ground.

Sometimes the bus people make their way to our own house. And they talk to each other, and move about, and oh, there are so many of them. And the more the redhead tries to get away, the more they seem to want to pet his head. But they do have cheese in their hands, so it’s a slight dilemma whether to stay or to go.

The redhead looks into my eyes; he knows the leaves and flags don’t cause me anxiety. He snuggles up to my neck in a soothing gesture. But bus people can be scary for anyone.

Chasing My Tail

Posted on August 27, 2014 by TeaandBonnets

I walk into the room, and fix my gaze on you.

Heart bursting with joy, I’m no longer blue.

My short and sweet Power Point for today,

Now requested as a Word novel – no delay!

The most ridiculous lag of the Metro train,

Or the bakery being sold out of seven grain,

Thoughts of a friendship I cannot mend,

Once in your sight, all fretting meets an end.

You lie there purring, green eyes of calm.

The look of holding the world in your palm.

I gently step forward, my smile in full bloom.

You rise and race to the other edge of the room.

For you know very well how to dictate the rules.

Yet, I sit and await your affection like a fool.

Until that distant hour, when you are suddenly tender,

I’ll cuddle with the dog, and we’ll watch EastEnders.

When One Door Closes, Knock Anyway

Posted on August 1, 2014 by TeaandBonnets

Twenty years ago, I was just a kid avoiding contact with the world, walking the streets of Manhattan with a giant Walkman slung on my hip. I was often listening to the static between radio stations, but looking engrossed to any passerby. “This is the most poignant haunting melody ever created by man, and I must look through you as I may attain nirvana in the next minute.” The real wish behind my expression: please go away.

Then one day at work, I got an office. Hurrah, no more forced camaraderie all day long. I could finally let my hair down; especially since my optimal hair-drying method involved repeatedly twisting the hair and shoving it into the back of my shirt. And I could now attack food freely during phone calls, without worrying about the cute blond copywriter across the way staring at the black bean on my cheek. A new world.

At first, I tried to learn and live by the cues of office door etiquette. Of course an open door meant an invitation to come one, come all. Also, beware if you happened to be one of those souls who courteously called out “Bless You” for a sneeze in the hallway. The recipient would soon come into your office to express gratitude, and fifty other details about the day. Hrrrumph.

So I began plugging in my headphones, infused with a steady internet stream of trance and Colombian rock. And yet, people would still saunter in, and surprisingly, start talking. Darn tiny earbuds, too unnoticeable for the human eye. Eventually I resorted to a half-closed door stance, combined with large headphones; and I blocked time on my online calendar, which was visible to all. “I wanted you to know, there is some cake left from Karen’s birthday party,” was the first no-knock, walk in. The second was “Can I ask you something?”

The next day, I closed the door fully. For hours. Knock. Ignore. Knock again. Silence. Folder slipped under the door – a birthday card being circulated for signatures. I failed to grasp the critical nature of this, but no surprise there. Instant Message began flickering in the lower quadrant of my screen, “Are you busy?”

So the years move forward, and here I am still in my office chair, trying to shrivel up and disappear, but awaiting a knock at any moment. For someone will always need to talk to you. Right now. Just like there will always be unavoidable crowds of people on your side of the street trying to make eye contact. One of them may try to be really friendly and rub up against your back while you are waiting at the crosswalk. I think it’s OK to tell that person to go away.

Tiny Tiny

Posted on July 1, 2014 by TeaandBonnets

Little one, come on out. It’s dinner time. I think of your small figure racing across the edge of the garden, close against the fence, and alert to the smell of fish dropping from my fingers onto the terrace tile. You usually dart forward as you see your siblings hungrily attacking their share. I crouch down, smiling, and lean towards you but you always scamper back, shy and fearful; even as you have seen your mother build trust in me over the past four days.

Your brother was bold enough to follow me yesterday, uninvited, into our rented villa. This is the brother with black markings on white, including a black chin that makes him seem older than his baby body. You and your siblings have started rocking yourselves to sleep on the terrace chairs, while I peer out at you from inside the pool, sliding the wet strands of hair away from my eyes.

Please come to me and eat this, special order from the resort restaurant. You see, if you don’t, I will run out of time.

Until you come, I won’t be able to watch and shout enraged at referees, and stomp and sulk at the thought of a country’s loss. Or bawl elatedly when that same country is able to turn penalty kicks into a win. But I can’t indulge in any of this unless you receive your bit. The sight of your orange-streaked face and your snow-white paws have become more important than the beautiful game. Because when the sticky flakes fall off my fingers in your direction, I tell myself you will grow strong and survive, despite the fact that I will be heading home. That even in this distant, unprotected world you will be all right – because the world is kind to tiny, tiny cats.

Priority Seating for Passengers with S.A.

Posted on May 29, 2014 by TeaandBonnets

“Anyone, anyone? Give up your chair for a seventy year-old senior citizen with his hands full?”

There weren’t any takers in the small row of healthy younger adults, swigging from their beer bottles, at a recent barbecue. I recounted the event to dismayed friends, and surprised myself by excusing the culprits – they didn’t know any better. They were just socially awkward.

Before you chastise me, think of your own circles, and the many times you have skipped the obvious judgment and gone with a kinder S.A. diagnosis. People you are meeting for the first time, who show up at your dinner empty-handed, with three unexpected children, and a visiting relative. Before you can even mutter hostess gift under your breath, the kids have terrorized your timid cat; dad is bulldozing your neighbors with his stock tips; and mom is sitting center-stage on your sofa ordering “a very dry white wine, please.”

Why don’t we just state unabashedly this family is rude, and should not be invited again? Instead, we propose they enter our homes one more time where they will undoubtedly be even more comfortable engaging in S.A. behavior. For by that time, they will think we are friends.

We are simply unable to call a spade a spade for fear of being deemed rigid or too proper. Perhaps we are too Victorian in our sensibilities to navigate freely through modern-day social norms. Any negative traits we see immediately get turned into a justification, exculpating the offender, and designed to trigger our empathy. Disruptive kids? They have attention deficit disorder. Constantly interrupting adults? They have it too. Meddling personalities? Must be obsessive-compulsive. Extremely clingy? Nope, it’s separation anxiety.

If I’m honest, I’ll admit to using a more benign diagnosis for some of my own unbecoming behaviors. A little too much couch cuddling and Ben & Jerry’s? That’s because I am battling social anxiety. Too lazy to walk to the gym? My seasonal affective disorder often plagues me.

Next time I encounter a bad-mannered human, I will stop her in her tracks and tell her exactly what I think of her conduct. Then, I will suddenly shove her out of my way. And it will all be OK, because I am S.A.

This is 29

Posted on April 30, 2014 by TeaandBonnets

A delicate rose scent wafts through the air. It dances with the soothing talcum powder smell of little babies. Spring is wonderful. Less so is my jog – where I am more enthralled by the fragrances of my shampoo and deodorant, than by the prospect of speeding up. After a certain age, exercise is not just beneficial, but mandatory – unless you are happy about consistent and unforgiving weight gain.

If creeping pounds are unappealing, and you hate to move about, then eating sensibly is also an option. I’m not referring to fasting, pureeing bacon sandwiches, or juicing a pineapple with some kerosene, but a reasonable approach to nutrition. Like eating foods that come naturally in different colors (not tinted in an agricultural salon), in small portions, throughout the day. Easy and practical. Until you realize cake is not one of the recommended colors.

So for me, it’s back to sweating. Each morning, I pry open my eyelids, turn my stiff head to the left and assess the state of the union. Sufficient light to prevent mugging. Not enough to necessitate sunblock. Swaying leaves mean a long-sleeve shirt. Or maybe pants. I never get that decision right. When I feel an agitated ankle tendon I sit up. Maybe it’s a hamstring; I am not sure I know the difference. I do know I have to find that disgusting absorbent hairband, as today is not a hair-washing day.

I start to meticulously measure out the water, level out the scoops of finely ground Puerto Rican beans, and warm up the four precise ounces of milk; as the coffee starts to bubble, I reminisce about the morning routines of my youth. Sleeping in past the last possible minute and then heading into an inappropriately long shower; avoiding clothing dilemmas, by choosing black sweaters over black pants, with black shoes – all to the soundtrack of Ace of Base, which I somehow find the time to insert into the CD player. Walking two feet out of my apartment directly into an Au Bon Pain/Urban Pain for a large mocha blast, whipped cream please, and a side of whichever muffin looks the largest. That’s easing into a day.

But life is better now. Really. My cholesterol is low. My heart rate compares to a professional athlete’s, according to my Emergency room visit doctor. I can shamelessly wear a halter top (if I weren’t mortified at the thought). And I do sleep in until 8 on Sundays. This is 29, again.

Third-world problems, first-world Monday

Posted on March 31, 2014 by TeaandBonnets

“Passengers: we are holding behind another train, and expect shhhhgrrrtttshhh. At this time, geeeeshhhhhhhtttttt. Thank you.”

I look up, as if squinting fiercely at the Metro handrails will help me better understand the train’s speaker system. No, still no idea what was said. I stick my hand into my oversize purse and start feeling around: old, slightly soft apple, tube of lip gloss, electricity bill, assorted dog hairs, and finally, mobile phone. “Team – train delayed,” is how my email starts, until I realize we are between stations, and there isn’t any phone service. I hit “send” anyway, hoping for another secret tech deal between Apple and frenemy Google, that will allow this email to be delivered.

Nothing to do now, but wait. Maybe I can get caught up on the industry news, which is my euphemism for reading my horoscope and the advice column. But I quickly realize that without my phone, I am disconnected from The New York Times, AdAge, and Oprah.com. I think the electric bill had some inserts on saving energy, which would surely be interesting reading.

By the time, the train pulls into my station, I have missed my bus. But I am not frazzled, for in America, there are always taxis. And of course, there is a mandatory Whole Foods across the street, watching over all of us.

But today, there aren’t any taxis. Because it is snowing. And when it’s snowing in Washington, D.C., people morph into helpless one-year olds, incapable of navigating the streets on foot or driving themselves. It’s a good business day for taxis.

I pace on the sidewalk; I hate being late to the office, even if all I will do upon arrival is forage for coffee. Thankfully, a black taxi pulls up, with a gold emblem on its side. It looks strangely familiar. I open the door exactly as I realize my suspicion is true.

“Hi, it’s lovely to see you again,” the voice inside gushes.

“You still don’t take credit cards, right?” I stammer.

I step back onto the curb, and close the door, as the color drains from my face. How is it possible, in the land of plenty, to run into the exact same taxi driver who hit on you a few days earlier? The one who found my people to be “so smart, so good, so beautiful, and so many software engineers.”

More importantly, is the question of the train system’s performance. Why does the train get to sit on the platform several times a week – while I would receive an official warning from Human Resources if I decided to stop moving in the hallway, a few feet from my desk?

I quickly slide into the backseat of the yellow cab that pulls in a few minutes later. Within ten minutes, I have arrived at the heavy glass doors of my office building. Considering how the morning has started, proper nutrition suddenly seems important. I stop into my office for the last packet of oatmeal from my snack cabinet, and head into the company kitchen.

Bowl, water, oatmeal. I open the microwave with my left hand, and proceed to topple all three items onto my right hand. The liquid starts overflowing onto the counter top. Happy Monday!

Après-ski

Posted on February 27, 2014 by TeaandBonnets

“What if we took a ski holiday to Tahoe?!” This enthusiastic question was posed to me a few weeks ago.

“That sounds like so much fun. Let me look at schedules and get back to you,” is what I should have said. Instead, I let out a blood curling “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” before I could stop myself. Then I walked to the freezer and took out a pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie, and one of Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. Fear makes me hungry.

Falling clumsily over my legs, while my raw skin peels off my cheeks, and I am hospitalized for broken bones and hypothermia — not my idea of fun. Neither is spending loads of money to find out I understand the locals perfectly, and will never get to flash my passport.

In all fairness, my only frame of reference for Lake Tahoe is as the site of Fredo Corleone’s murder by his loving brother. My ignorance is further reinforced, when I realize I will have to Google “Tahoe which state.”

An hour later, fueled heavily by ice cream, I try to explore a positive attitude towards the possibility. Ski slopes always look glamorous on the cover of Hello! Blonde new-mama princess gliding down, with trim dark and handsome investment banker husband right behind. The nanny gazes over them from the chateau, while setting up a table of welcoming drinks. The genetically gifted future king naps in his stroller. Beauty, wealth, perfect highlights – this is skiing.

Since I can’t relate, sitting in my baggy sweatpants and glycolic acid mask, I usually skip to the pages featuring my kin: B-listers whose athletic prowess starts and ends with tanning. Yes, there are a fair number of muffin tops, but they are somewhat obscured by the large pretty umbrella drinks. Shiny brown skin that temporarily hides imperfections. Teeth that seem dazzling white as a result. Who cares if the claim to fame came from a one-time photo on the arms of a Real Madrid footballer?

I turn to watch the snow fall delicately over my front steps. The edge of my shovel peeks at me from the corner. I wrap my fingers tightly around my hot mug of Earl Grey. One other thing about the magazine beach bums – they look very warm.

Tea and Bonnets

Hipster musings on fretting gracefully

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