Thursday, November 3, 2011

good for you

“It’s good fer ya”
said the Irish shepherd as I stared at my first real pint of Guinness. He leaned against the bar with an impish smirk and craggy hands, his trousers a little too short being held up by hay bale twine “Go on girl, drink up” Nervous room temperature pint glass in one hand, the other jiggled spare coins left over. I was dressed in a nightgown as I had taken to the peculiar habit of only wearing nightgowns that summer. Nightgown with an old cardigan with holes near the cuffs, it was the early 90’s so grunge was in.  Tinkles of early morning pub life stayed lifeless in the air hanging with the roll up smokes. Smells of stale carpets and my crisps in a packet. Maybe it was too early for salt and vinegar but not for my first Guinness. A friendly old bar tender was watching and took some pity on me and poured a thimble of black current cordial into the pint.  “There ya go, try that, helps it go down a bit” I sucked down the gentle rich foam, but it was not foam, it was not real, it was not anything I had tasted before, it was heaven at first then a black tang, bang that had to be good for you, thirst quenching thick and perfect.  I was an instant convert to the temple of Guinness, a long family tradition.
I have memories of my grandfather and his Guinness sweatshirt soft with ware. He wore it he drank it he loved it. It was “Good for you”  So they say. Good for nursing mothers, good for high cholesterol, good for keeping heart attacks at bay, good for improving memories, good for blood clots, good for bones, For gods sake its just plain old good for you! (This research was surmised when tested on dogs by the way, lucky dogs!). My Grandmother let me in on the mating rituals of Guinness drinkers – “Put a bomb of Champaign in there too and it becomes an aphrodisiac, oh very tasty on a Friday night”  - Perhaps it was her way of telling me how my father was conceived!
Makes me wonder….. maybe we would  not have come this far without it !

 The Workman's Friend

 When things go wrong and will not come right,
 Though you do the best you can,
 When life looks black as the hour of night -
 A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

 When money's tight and hard to get
 And your horse has also ran,
 When all you have is a heap of debt -
 A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

 When health is bad and your heart feels strange,
 And your face is pale and wan,
 When doctors say you need a change,
 A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

 When food is scarce and your larder bare
 And no rashers grease your pan,
 When hunger grows as your meals are rare -
 A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

 In time of trouble and lousy strife,
 You have still got a darlint plan
 You still can turn to a brighter life -
 A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

A “pint of plain is” referring to Guinness !

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Bike it day

Today is Bike it Day, a tradition started by two well meaning Santa Monica teens a few years ago to remind us that roads are not only for cars. Today also happens to be the first rain day of the season.  My first grader and I walk, not because its bike it day, not because its the right thing to do, we walk because i posses no early morning driving skills -  the last thing my brain can wrap it's way around is the morning school traffic in the parking lot.  Generally not being resilient enough to withstand the abuse that ensues with a wrong turn or a slow back up -  a simple walk always wins. Today its pouring which is exciting until I realize that we for some reason own no umbrella and last years wellies  are too small for the kid. But we don ski jackets and some uggs for the child, but I roll in total luxury. That is because I am the proud owner of a pair of Hunter green wellington boots. These boots I bought at an estate sale for $3 in Sunland, and as I walk down the street I remind myself that the dead woman who's estate sale it was must have hardly worn them as they seemed practically brand new. I actually have to remind/convince myself a few times.... there were no scuffs or any sings of ware.  Until half way to school  I am totally convinced that I am in fact not walking in a dead woman's boots because obviously she never once touched them.  Hunters are a  must have especially if you are a transplant from Great Britain, because now that I am here in the states there are small things that become important like the ownership of wellies and adoration of crunchie chocolate bars, baked beans and trying to remember who the Prime Minister is.

I love my Hunter wellies, because they are comfy and some how scream Royalty and rough and tumble, swarthy, don't mind the mud while feeding the horses sort of person all at once.
The company was started in 1856  by an American who moved to Scotland to make gum boots. Hunter really took off when they won the contract to shoe the trenched English soldiers for the First World War and then later went on to do the same in the Second World War.
So its I guess it's a spot of luck for us, that these boots shod the feet of the winning side and we are all free  to enjoy and adore them in our comparative frivolity.   Makes me wonder ....are we to one day romanticize products from halliburton?