Honestly, I haven’t been reading much fiction these days—too buried in holiday To Do’s, emails, and preparations for The Baker’s Daughter’s release next month. Yeah, I know, that sentence made me stop too. Next month, can you believe it? The release date (1/24/12) is coming fast and furious with Christmas and a whole New Year between now and then. Does anybody else feel like November thru January runs at supersonic speed? I imagine time (a year) in the shape of Freytag’s Pyramid. That totally speaks to my personal nerd factor and on that note some might argue I really ought to get my head out of the books. Nonetheless, that’s how I see it: rising action, rising action, rising action, then we hit the year’s climax followed by a quick cut through the November/December denouement to a January 1 conclusion. Done.
So I’m attempting to take a moment, once a day, to stop—no, really STOP everything I’m doing and just breathe, remind myself what day it is, what time, look out the window and actually see the sky. It helps me feel like time isn’t vanishing.
That all being said, the book that is sitting on my nightstand currently is The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh. It came highly recommended and though I’ve only read the first page, I already get the sense that it’s my perfect kind of story.
This week it snowed in El Paso. Yes, flurries in the desert! The Franklin Mountains are peaked white making the great Southwest look more like Germany than Tex-Mexico. Inspired by the Christmas vista, I pulled out my Twinings Christmas Tea. It’s infused with cinnamon and cloves and makes me feel like I’m sitting in Santa’s workshop whenever I brew a cuppa.
Sarah’s Sipping Summary:
The novel’s nod to the Victorian use of flowers makes me think of Dickens and old-fashioned Christmas parties with folks sipping hot mulled cider and tea under strings of garlands and mistletoe bouquets. Not surprisingly, mistletoe symbolizes affection and the flower dictionary says it conveyed the floral message of: come hither, I want to smooch you. That’s my paraphrase. As well, cinnamon meant “my fortune is yours.” Intriguing. So if you were sipping cinnamon-infused tea under the mistletoe, you’d basically be saying, “Come kiss me and my fortune is yours.”
I think it’s quite appropriate that I’m drinking this brew with Diffenbaugh’s book by my side—even if I’m not actively reading, the sentiments are there.