If you live in the South, you might want to skip this post and carry on with your day. To those who are still with me - sweet tea is what we Southerners bleed when we cut a finger (not to discount our famous barbecue sauces - another subject for another day). For the purposes of clarification, sweet tea is NOT Snapple in a bottle. Neither is it some kind of instant powder you stir up with a spoon. Sweet tea is composed of tea bags, the more the merrier, the stronger the better in my book, slowly steeped in scalding water, to which a couple of dump-truck-loads of sugar is added while the mixture is still steaming hot. That is your base. Add more water to dilute to your taste, chill thoroughly, and serve in a big glass filled with ice. We consume millions of gallons of the stuff, 24-7-365. It knows no season. Without it, we would be pale lifeless specimens of humanity, a disgrace to America probably. So if you have ever wondered about us, thinking "what IS it with those crazy people down there?", the answer is sugar. We're all hopped up on it. Here below the Mason-Dixon line, we love our sweet tea.
You have already met Tylenol, the gorgeous cat who knows it. Recently, we had a backyard family gathering. My niece's four year old daughter, Sydney, was rightfully the center of attention, splashing around in the pool in her little pink swimsuit and matching pink float. All eyes were on her - apparently to Tylenol's disgust - because suddenly someone burst out laughing and pointed to an empty terra cotta pot by the edge of the pool. There he sat, perfectly posed, in a spot that he normally wouldn't go near if his life depended on it. The serene look on his face, directed straight at adorable little Sydney, said, "Take THAT, you cute little girl in the pink float! Who are they looking at NOW?"
Not long ago, I ran out of watercolor paper. No big deal. I could have ordered online and FedEx would have delivered a fresh supply the very next day. Boring. So Hubby and I decided it was time to hit the road and go pick up that paper ourselves. Actually I decided and dragged Hubby along because I knew he would thank me later in the day and he did. Charlotte was nearby - but no - we determined that the only possible place to purchase watercolor paper on this day was in Boone, NC at Cheap Joe's Art Supplies. And, of course, we were forced, FORCED, to turn left and ride down the Blue Ridge Parkway while we were in the neighborhood. A picnic lunch beside a stream in Julian Price Park was followed by a visit to Moses Cone Manor, one of our favorite stops on the parkway. This photo tells the rest of the story. Who says work can't be fun?