Hot tap water and a Lipton tea bag - that was how I made my first cup of tea at age ten. I don't remember how it tasted but I imagine not good. My tea-making skills improved tremendously once I was allowed to use the stove. Over the years steaming hot tea became a comfort beverage for me. At times I seek it out the way some people run to a glass of wine or a cold beer after a stressful day of work. It is also there in simpler times as a nice way to treat myself when I have a minute to unwind. The effect is addicting.
No one knew the magic of a cup of tea better than my mother-in-law. Tea and gardening were the two things that we first bonded over. Many of my favorite conversations with her took place at the dining room table, both of us with hot cups in our hands. I was never particular about the container I drank it from, but it mattered to her. She drank hers in a tall, delicate teacup decorated with small flowers and buds. We never talked about her reasoning, but I always felt it was her way of making those moments when she could relax extra special. It was her way to say, "Hooray for today!" even when nothing terribly interesting happened.
I'm not as good as she was at taking those moments for myself. From time to time though, when I miss her or when the day is especially normal, I reach for the tea and her cup. Each sip is a whisper telling me to slow down and look around me at the everyday moments we have to celebrate.
Yesterday was a teacup day, and boy did that tea taste good!
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