There have been phenomenal highs this week but also excruciating lows. Finnbjörn flew back to Iceland a few days ago (where he was greeted with another eruption AND snow), and I’ve been mainly feeling off-kilter since.
My gut has been causing me woe (it has been, on and off, for years), and intrusive voices have been scuttling in whenever they get a chance, namely, when I pause to catch a breath. One such voice is making an effort to convince me that this post isn’t worthwhile, that nobody gives a rat’s arse, that what I have to say is dull and painfully pointless, and so on and so forth. Yet, I’m typing on regardless.
But, much editing and writing has been done this week (successful work sessions elevate my mood stratospherically), fresh ideas are budding, and there are some things I want to write about and share because they brought me hefty doses of joy during this tumultuous time. If I can steer them in your direction and have some potentially give you joy, too, then that’s just wonderful.
Chai Latte from Off The Ground Coffee House: I’ve been a chai latte fanatic for a fair few years, but now, having tasted authentic, made-from-scratch chai brewed up by an Indian (living in Iceland) my standards have sky-rocketed and I rue the days I would ‘gladly’ pay excessive amounts of money for uninspiring chai made with generic powder or syrup from Café Nero, Costa and Starbucks. (I actively avoid the latter two these days.)
However, when I’m checking out a new café, I like to give them the benefit of the doubt and willingly try their chai just to see. I was recently introduced to Off The Ground Coffee House in Middlesbrough and now can’t stay away. Their chai is sublime and up there with my top three. A cup is priced less than the mediocre stuff from the ‘big coffee chains’ and the taste is infinitely more curious and soul-satisfying. The way it’s served, too, is art in and of itself.
The blend they use at Off The Ground is entirely vegan (available in 250g packages to buy in-store if you really love it) and is made up of black tea, agave, cinnamon, cardamom, star anise, peppercorn, clove and ginger root – so all good things to have in your body.
I had a gander on Trip Adviser, and I’m not the only one singing the praises of their chai; another uber-satisfied customer said Off The Ground is the only place they can find a chai latte that they really enjoy. Also, their organic, made on-site bagels are so goddamn delicious that I go so far as to say they could rival any NYC-born bagel.
*The reason there’s no photographic evidence of the chai and bagel is that I usually feel like quite the tit when I attempt to photograph what I’m eating. I’m also a terrible food photographer.
Pinterest: I’ve gone through phases with Pinterest over the years. There can be months when I don’t even give it a thought and when I’m there for a few minutes most days. I’ve been frequenting it recently because I’m dead set on creating a magnificently inspiring vision board for 2024 and it’s been giving me more than enough fodder for hundreds of them.
However, I do sometimes feel sad as I peruse its visual offerings and will ask myself, ‘Why don’t I have my house in the Norwegian woods yet? Why can’t I afford these dreamy Ovate dresses? Why haven’t I bought (or better, made) my little girl a toadstool hat and coaxed her into the forest to do a Waldorfian photoshoot?’
The short story Sour Hall by Naomi Booth: I can go for ages without reading short stories because it’s been such a rare instance that I find tales I want to gobble up, so I get frustrated and stop trying. This neglect isn’t ok, I know. I am working on it.
Sour Hall, however, well… I wolfed it straight down without coming up for air. The story, based close to home, on the North York Moors and shaped around the boggart, a folkloric creature I’ve always known about but never spent much time thinking about, is tightly written, tense and unforgettable.
When I think of how well Booth manifests the atmosphere of an isolated moorland farm, I find myself linking her with the likes of Algernon Blackwood and Sharon Blackie – two of my favourite writers who I deem masters of the short story. You can find Sour Hall in Hag: Forgotten Folktales Retold, and below is a quick bite.
One December afternoon, the sky changes colour – it curdles from thin blue to deep grey. The sky is bright and dark at the same time, like the light from a man’s eyes the moment before he turns on you. The snow falls and falls and obliterates the road and then the moor and then the horizon.
Sour Hall by Naomi Booth
Also, take note! Sour Hall has now been adapted into an audio drama!
New things in my home and Finnbjörn assembling said things because he has mastered the final and most challenging level of adulting – building Ikea furniture: One of the new things is a coffee table in my living room. It’s just a little Ikea Lack, but oh, oh my, I love it. I love not having to balance my laptop on a chair. I love having something to put my cups on that isn’t the carpeted floor. I also love that it coordinates well with the Kallax unit that functions as my library. I’m owning this 90% cardboard table and its simplicity, and while it’s not my ‘forever’ coffee table, it does the job just perfectly for now.
Saga singing a song to let me know she loves me more than all her unicorns.
Jonna Jinton’s album Songs & Callings: Aside from ADHD focus music, this is the only thing I’ve been listening to this past week. Every track is bliss, but I particularly love Du Gamla, Du Fria, The Wolf Song and Lucia – The Night Of Light.
Rooted Magazine: I learned about this publication by hawking around on the Hwaet! Facebook page (a most accomplished folkloric zine that I’m infatuated with and need to review) where I was trying to find a release date for the next issue. I promptly ordered it because it’s about some of my very favourite things – folklore, nature and mythology – and I’d be a damn fool not to. Now I’m eagerly awaiting its arrival.
Snowdrops: The sight of these quietly nodding little lantern-like flowers will forever and a day cheer me when I’m suffering a sour mood. And I couldn’t end this post without letting those of you inclined to enjoy a bit of plant lore (most of you, I except) know about what I’ve just read in A Dictionary of English Folklore about snowdrops…
Many people in England used to think (and a fair few still do, I reckon) that to bring snowdrops into the house was considered unwise, with their presence potentially bringing about bad luck or even death. Charlotte Lathamw, in the Folklore Record I in 1878, wrote it was because snowdrops were thought to ‘look like a corpse in its shroud,’ and because they grow so close to the ground, they ‘seem to belong more to the dead than the living.’
A Wyrd Of Her Own 