A Poetry Tasting: Advice for an American Going to England for the First Time

I'm so happy to share with you a long overdue poem for our poetry series with Kate! This poem captures the odd mix of happiness and sadness that make up nostalgia. Have you ever felt that after discovering and falling in love with a new place?

Advice for an American Going to England for the First Time
Words by Kate Lindblom

If you ever travel to England, 

don't forget to pack 

a pair of long, wooly socks 

and an overcoat 

for the July weather.

Bring a sturdy coin purse 

for all the pounds and the pence 

you'll constantly examine and trade.

Don't worry. They will have things 

like cats and postage stamps 

and small rocks and windows 

and drops of dew like you're used to. 

Your homesickness will be brief.

You won't need a translator 

to understand British words and phrases 

such as “bits and bobs” or “popping in.” 

But do understand that “party favors” 

can mean more 

than colorful streamers and paper hats.

If you see citizens enjoying picnics in a graveyard 

with their blue bicycles propped against headstones, 

Do not be alarmed. 

Also, try not to feel uneasy 

eating some grapes 

or buying a trinket 

or simply sitting down 

in a building older than your known family tree. 

Remember: it's not a museum, it's for living. 

And it doesn't need a power washing.

Try the leek soup, 

try the blood pudding, 

try the crumpets, 

try the grilled tomatoes. 

You'll find them 

delightful 

abhorrent 

underwhelming 

and strange, 

perhaps in that order.

Ponder over 

the British love affair with 

red and black currants 

and marmite 

and crisps that taste like prawns 

and not ketchup.

You should just start loving and expecting 

hot beverages like you might a pleasant breeze. 

Embrace coffee and tea and milk and cubes of sugar 

as you already do biscuits.

Enjoy hard cider, 

its sweetness and tartness and sparkle combined. 

Enjoy the Devonshire cream 

which you never knew existed 

and which will be hard to find 

back in the States.

Go ahead and take 42 rolls of film. 

You'll want to remember 

that amount of snails in one place 

and the way the sunlight shone on the grass 

that one afternoon. 

You'll need to show you were at King's Chapel, 

Cambridge 

and Windsor Castle too, 

whether the queen was or not. 

You'll try to capture the feelings you'll have: 

awe, confusion, delight, camaraderie, 

true and constant. 

You will not fully succeed 

but the images will help combat the sadness 

after you have left.

A Poetry Tasting: Peach Stop

As I'm cruising around Napa Valley wine tasting today, please enjoy the second installment of our poetry series written by Kate Lindblom! This is a tale of her east coast road trip (where she and our friend Brandy stopped in DC to see me!).

Road Trip 2012: Tampa to Boston.
Summer.
America's east coast beckons!
But first,
a peach stop.

We've barely stepped over
the threshold
of the first state line
when we take an exit
seriously
that promises
Georgia peaches
pecan logs
peanuts
clean bathrooms.

Next to the feed store,
the goods sit on tables
under a green tent
with local people
manning the peach-colored bottles
of cider
and peach-colored jars
of jam
while a peach-colored kitten scampers away
on our approach.

Open plastic jars labeled “College”
sit here and there
between the Southern offerings,
all with a thin layer of coins
and a crumpled dollar or two
at the bottom.
Ziploc bags filled with water
hang under the eaves of the tent
each with a penny dropped inside
to keep the flies away
and the customers curious.

Business is good.
My friend goes inside the feed store,
which manner dictates
since we parked in front of it,
while I test the heft
of the nearest bottle of cider.

As I pay,
I notice a young raccoon in a cat trap
at the edges of the whole affair.
Another tourist points
to the black-eyed animal
who's surrounded
by scattered peanut shells.
“Oh, it's wild”
is the nearest boy's response
as he smoothes out the bills
in his hand.
I walk to the car,
and look back
at the captive animal
with its blank face
and resting paws
as it lolls in its cage.

My friend gets into the car as I do.
We both try to share our own experience
of the local color in the minute we were apart.

I talk about the raccoon.
She tells of the feed store smell
and a man who greeted her kindly
and asked,
“Where's Booger?”
A voice from the back answered,
“He's right there.”
She looked down to see a gloomy dog,
a boxer,
lying on the floor listless
as if in preparation for the heat.

We drive back onto the highway
and faster we accelerate,
the more satisfied we are
in our Georgia encounter
and with our first peach stop.

A Poetry Tasting: A New Series!

Hello dear readers! I want to introduce you to our first contributor and a new series on High Heeled Traveler called A Poetry Tasting. I've been wanting to add some poetic delights to the blog for a while but it's one style of story telling that escapes me. Luckily one of my best friends, Kate, is a poet and agreed to write some special rhymes just for us! Let me/us know what you think in the comments below.
So here you go, the first poem in our monthly series...

Ode to a Hotel Room
by Kate Lindblom

A hotel room is made up of three plain things:
security, simplicity, and sighs.
Peace sinks to the core
when we're behind a door
that to us has no ties.

First, security of the calmest kind,
is ready to greet each guest.
With plastered walls
and silent halls
A traveler can take a rest

from winds that gust and rains that pelt
to snow that crusts to ice.
Brass locks that click
and clocks that tick
soothe us through the night.

Simplicity comes in the form of things
like smooth ivory tiles and sheets
as blank and clean
as twilights unseen,
as cool as the mossy peat.

Soap that under a fingernail curls
and pillows stuffed with things
like slanted sunlight
and sounds of the night
a freshness to us brings.

And what of the sighs that from us arise
when we thump our bags on the floor?
They're the same ones heard
instead of a word
when the lamp shines gold no more.

Sheets of glass and cotton curtains
Keep us apart from the noise.
So let out your sighs
and close your eyes.
Let a hotel room bring you joy.