Today’s test tea came from the Black Tea Test Flight: Ceylon BOP. I am told that BOP means “Broken Orange Pekoe”. Place of origin, reasonably enough, Sri Lanka.
Opening the bag — it smells nice, like trees. Instructions are 1 tsp/6 oz cup, brewed for 3 minutes.
One of the other splurges I recently embraced was a Bodrum double-walled tea glass. Because glass is apparently one of my Endless Fascinations. It’s extremely light, and lives up to the claim that it keeps your drink warm inside while maintaining an outside temperature that makes it possible to handle with no discomfort.
Also, it lets you see your tea, which is Very Cool. I approve.
Back to the tea, which is, as I could see, a very pretty golden color, like high-grade honey. It’s — good. Lighter than the Russian Tea; the tree-like smell diluted in the taste, but still there.
I like it.
I’m not going to do stars, or ratings. Given how unschooled I am, I’m probably being impertinent by even trying to explain what I’m drinking. But here we are.
#
All righty, then.
Friday, started out sunny, now grey, damp, and sulky.
Today marks the 46th anniversary of Steve Miller and I getting legally married at the County Courthouse in Towson, Maryland. I wore a grey dress. Steve’s suit was grey pinstriped.
We were attended by my friend David, who took us to lunch, after I had made a lifelong friend with the courthouse security guy, who was not the guy who had us sign the book on our way in, and, according to custom, removed my knife from my purse, telling me I could collect it on the way out.
Close observers will notice that I did not change my name when I married, though I was offered the option to do so. When we arrived at the security post, the new guard took leave to correct me when I signed the book SHARON LEE: “No, now, you need to sign your new name,” he chided me gently. “You’re a bride, remember.”
Steve told him that I had opted to keep my old name, which deflated the guard briefly, before he turned back and asked what else he could do for me, and I said, somewhat crankily, “I just want my blade back.”
Apparently, this is not An Approved Line in the New Bride Script.
So, today… One thousand thirty-ish new words; the WIP now standing at 73,275ish, total words.
I’m feeling somewhat tired and grumpy. Possibly, I’m hungry. I’ll go poke around in the fridge and see if something proposes itself for lunch.
What’s for lunch at your house?
Your description of the confused security guard made me laugh. One of my earliest memories is of the day that someone explained to me that I would, one day, grow up, get married, and take my husband’s name. “Well!” I said, “when I grow up I’m going to marry a man named Smith, because I’m NOT going to change MY name!” I’m in my 70s. My name is still Smith, and I’m still mystified by the notion that one gender should feel flattered to change their name upon marrying, while another gender should feel insulted if they are asked to do so.