Menu
On the verge
The Blog
...or It's November, so I should be writing about how amazing my mother is, and I will, as it gets closer to her birthday. (It's in 11 days... SHEESH! Where has the time gone?!) But for some reason these past few days I have been gifted with memories and thoughts of my father. And from the strangest, and most unusual sources. That being said, Veteran's Day is around the corner, and my father, along with many other members of my family, have served this great country and deserve to be honored. I don't know that this is the best way to honor his service, and sacrifice, but it is a way to recognize him. So here goes...
For those of you who are not aware of my father's current status. He's teaching high school math to a bunch of kids who don't understand that his entire life's goal was to teach math to a bunch of high school kids. He teaches, grades papers, reads, watches the news, the occasional sporting event, and complains that he's getting old. I didn't realize until I was well into my twenties that he was actually aging, but I digress. The point is, this isn't a sentimental post about my father because he's gone. It's a sentimental post about my father because for some reason, even though he doesn't talk a lot, or do a lot, he continues to make a large and lasting impact on my life. I'm normally not sentimental. I will admit to being sentimental at times. It's a little quirk of mine. My mother disagrees with me on this half the time, and since she raised me, and was a strong influence and observer of my life for many of my early years, she may be right. But for the most part, I keep it under wraps. I regularly purge my closet of unused, or forgotten items to be donated to the nearest clothing drive. I replace things once they're broken. I normally don't wast time on imbuing items or things with sentiment. It means you carry more physical baggage, and to be honest, I don't have the space in my tiny New York City apartment for it. What brought upon this sudden wash of feels? The one moment that came out of the blue, and without issue, and made me realize that I might be more sentimental than I initially thought, was when I put on my red outerwear vest when I ran out the door to catch the subway to work. This red vest fits a bit tighter than it did when my dad brought it back from wherever he was while he was TDY (military speak for "Temporary Duty") during one of the last few years he was in the Air Force. This piece of clothing is one of the only, if not THE ONLY item of clothing that has survived four separate moves across this country. There is nothing truly special about it. It's a fleece lined quilted vest that you wear when it's cold enough for a jacket, but not so cold that you need a winter coat. My dad couldn't even tell me where he got it, or where he was when he got it. (He flew those top secret missions his last few years.) What I do remember, is that when he went TDY for a long time, he would come back with small gifts for all of us. When I was younger he would get my brothers and I all the same thing, but as I got older, he would pick up some Bath and Body Works more often than not, or in this case, a "grown-up" piece of clothing. I have to admit that at the time, it was not something that I thought I'd ever wear. It's functional, not a fashion statement. But it was the first piece of "grown-up" piece of clothing that my father purchased for me. It's probably one of the only items of clothing he has purchased for me without any input from me, my mother, or some other person who would be able to assist in giving him advice about what the "style of the day" was or what my preferences were. With all these factors, there was no way I was going to give it up, pass it off to Salvation Army, or a Thrift Store. It was a vest for a grown up, and at fourteen, you can bet I wanted to be as grown up as I could be. So I kept it. I brought it out occasionally to wear, and justify keeping it. The fact that this vest is a lovely shade of red, also had a great impact on me keeping it. After all, red is my favorite color to wear. But for some reason today when I put it on, it hit me. This vest, as much as it was just a functional, average, fall outerwear vest. It carries memories from Jacksonville & Conway, Arkansas, Great Falls, Montana, and now New York City. And as hard as I tried to set it aside, or dismiss it, what I thought was an "ok" gift from my father, from one of his many TDY trips, has turned into a carrier of wisdom, memories, and experiences. It stands as a reminder of the sacrifices he made as a Major of the U.S. Air Force. A reminder of the weeks he would be gone. The phone calls from him when he was forced to say where he was for longer than he expected. How he was always trying to beat the jet lag when he got back. How he missed birthdays, holidays, and celebrations. He gave so much more than I will ever realize, or understand. But I have a red vest. A red vest that is filled with love, and memories, and has become one of my most treasured possessions. It is a badge of honor I get to wear to honor my father, and his sacrifice. As an added bonus - it keeps me nice and warm through the fall, just like the memories it gives me of my father. ...or Two years ago, I received this beautiful black backpackers backpack (say that three times fast) from my amazing mother for my first ever trip abroad. I spend 13 days in Italy and Spain. It was an amazing trip full of art, and culture. I will never forget it and be forever grateful for the opportunity.
Low and behold, the travel-bug had bit me, and it wasn't long until I was planning my next trip abroad, this time to Iceland, Scotland and Ireland. This time to see a long lost friend, who wasn't really lost because Facebook is a thing, and no one is every really lost because of it, and also to check out the country that she had chosen to be her home. We had a blast road-tripping through Scotland, spending a weekend in Ireland, and I got 48 hours in Iceland to book end the trip beautifully. After my return, I was excited to have plans to return to Scotland for a very special occasion and couldn't wait to pack up my reliable black backpack again. But before I could get the chance to pack it to the brim, a dear friend told me of her great opportunity to travel across Europe for two months! I, of course, passed off my reliable back pack as a loan, and she took great care of it while seeing most of Europe and getting an experience of a lifetime. Not so long after her return, her roommate found out she was going to Australia and was also hoping to borrow my reliable black backpack "RBB" for the trip. Of course I acquiesced as I knew that it would serve her as well as it served me and her roommate. After my backpack's return from it's fourth trip abroad, I started packing it up for yet another trip, this time I was headed back to Scotland for my friend's wedding, and maybe a little side trip to St. Andrews, or Edinburgh. And even as I planned for this trip, I can't help but be reminded of one of my favorite book series, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and how it is still relevant in my life. Anyone who has read this series knows that the magic of the pants is that they fit four very different girls. But what makes them even more magical, is that they manage to keep four friends who reach massive crossroads in their lives, and though they take divergent paths, manage to keep in touch through these magical pants. My friends who have borrow my black backpack, although we have been friends for several years, are not necessarily as close as we use to be, but somehow the magic of travel, and now this backpack, has brought us together in a way that we normally wouldn't be connected. This backpack taught me something else. Friends come through in the toughest of times. They love you, forgive you, and help you back up to continue your journey. I am so happy to have found friends that I can rely on in the hard times, and I hope that I am one of those friends for them as well. I love that I get to carry so many memories with me on my excursions, as well as the dust from Australia, the rain from Ireland, the smell of wine from Italy, and so many other places. Here's to the next adventure for the Sisterhood and to many, many more. ...or A few weeks ago, a friend contacted me for my "Southern Sweet Tea" recipe. And I didn't want to give it out for a few different reasons. One: She's not Southern; Two: It's mine; Three: How can I trust her to not ruin it seeing as she's not Southern, and is not me?; Four: She doesn't live in the South... the list goes on. But after much internal debate, I decided that she was worthy of the recipe, just as she was worthy of the role she stole from me earlier this year. Don't worry, I'm not holding a grudge. I got something much better out of that scenario. But after the decision was made to give her this recipe, I was left at a crossroads as to how to share it. I was not sending it through Facebook. Mark Zuckerberg and his cronies are not allowed to have this amazing goodness. And being that it's a Southern Sweet Tea recipe, typing it out seemed a bit sacrilegious. So I decided to write it out. And, as is wont to happen when I am asked to dip back into my southern knowledge and experiences, I got a little more sassy, a little more confident, and a little more, well... southern. It's a fun recipe just for the way that I wrote it out. And because my friend succeeded in making it, (I know this because she said that everyone loved it, and THEY HAD BETTER!) I thought it might be a nice gesture to share it with all of you. Regardless of the fact of where you're from or what you do. So without any further ado, here is my Southern Sweet Tea recipe. Use it well, use it wisely, and for god's sake don't add alcohol to it! There's enough sugar to go around. London's Sassy Southern Sweet TeaIngredients - 12 regular tea bags - 1 cup of sugar - 3 lemons (1 for juicing, the rest for slicing and serving) - large stock pot (holds at least a gallon) - 1 teaspoon baking soda - 1 gallon water - 1 gallon pitcher - Ice (this is ICED TEA after all) - Southern Sweetness - Southern Sass - 1 big helping of Southern Hospitality (see Southern Sweetness & Sass) Directions
1 Get that pot filled up with some of that water, we're talking the WHOLE GALLON & make it PIPING HOT on the stove. We're talking a rolling boil. Add those dozen tea bags - don't be shy! Just make sure to remove those paper tags and strings, ain't nobody wanna drink that. Boil for awhile until the color looks more like coffee than tea. It's scary, go with it. 2 Fish out those pesky tea bags using a spoon or whatever utensil you have handy, once the tea is dark and strong. DON'T BE A FOOL AND USE YOUR HANDS! Use that common sense your moma gave you! Did anyone tell you to stop boiling that pot? No, no they didn't. Keep it going. Add that cup of sugar and stir until it's gone. Now if you're worried about diabetes or something of the like, you can use less than a cup, but no less than 2/3 cup - this is SWEET TEA! 3 Slice one of those lemons in half and squeeze out all that sweet & sour juice into the pot. Try keep the seeds out of it, it's a pain to fish them out. That being said, if you do let a few fall, fish 'em out now. 4 Remove the pot for all that hear. She's sexy enough. Let her sit for a bit and cool enough so she doesn't destroy your pitcher. After she's cooled a bit, pour that sweet and sassy concoction into the pitcher. 5 Due to all that boiling, she's not gonna be a full gallon of tea. Don't worry we're gonna remedy that. Fill the rest of the pitcher with plain ol' water. It'll dilute the strongness of the tea, and give you a full gallon. Plus, if you use cold water, it cools down the tea. Add that teaspoon of baking soda and stir. I know it seems a little ridiculous, but it keeps the tea from getting cloudy. If you don't want to use it, that's fine, but don't complain about cloudy tea! 6 Chill that pitcher down! NO ONE WANTS HOT ICED TEA!! (Stick it in the fridge for a few hours. It should be good then.) 7 Slice up the other lemons into wedges or wheels, or however you like your lemons. Fill those glasses with ice, and serve that Southern Sweet Tea with a lemon, smile, and some good friends on a porch somewhere. ENJOY! |
Archives
November 2017
AuthorLondon Griffith is an Alaskan born, Montana raised, Southern influenced, New York Actress. She occasionally writes about her life and experiences of being on the verge ... |