Tea in the morning, etc.

 

Half my genes are of British origin going back to the 1640s. My mother's family were New England Yankees, fought in the American Revolution, although I don't think any relative was part of the Boston Tea Party. Maybe they might have participated if they didn't hate the idea of destroying tea. I'll never know for sure.

 I was brought up in a tea-drinking family. 

Living with a couple in my 30s and 40s. When we arrived home from work, a pot of tea was a regular way to unwind and discuss dinner plans. Sometimes it was made with just tea bags, but there were many times when the full ritual of hotting the pot and using tea leaves happened. We used a small strainer or a metal one to filter out the tea as we poured the tea into cups or mugs. We even had an ugly cup collection for when we needed a bit of humor.

Somehow we never managed to resist buying just one more tea pot either part of a fine china set, an antique pot or one that made us laugh, which was especially useful after a bad day. We would sit in our library, surrounded by books. In winter, a gas fire kept us cozy as we sipped and chatted.

Sometimes we had tea across the street with Hiram Manning, the man who introduced decoupage to the U.S. In the beginning, like us, he was renovating his townhouse. Tea brewed in a pot was the rule. He introduced us to combinations with gunpowder tea. 

We might sit in whatever room was not a disaster, but as time went on and work on his house progressed, it was more like drinking tea at Versailles surrounded by his beautiful decoupage creations. Many times he made little sandwiches, some simple with butter and fresh ground pepper, other times so elaborate that they merited a culinary award. We listened to his stories of living in Europe and the ups and downs of his life. 

When I worked in Switzerland, I would often make the afternoon tea for my team. More than once it led into discussions on whether it should steep, brew, draw, etc. depending on what Anglophone country they came from. No matter how it was steeped, brewed or drawn, all of it was consumed.

In Syria I was introduced to maté. It served the same purpose as tea. Women friends gathered almost daily. The maté leaves filled glasses or wooden cups, a little sugar and maybe cardamon would be sprinkled on the maté and we would sip through silver straws as we talked. Because I couldn't speak Arabic, the lovely women spoke in French and English.

After I retired from my corporate job, I still had three weeks of teaching creative writing at Webster University. The new tenant needed to take up residence in my old flat. My Indian neighbors offered me refuge. Every morning when my host made tea for his wife, he made a cuppa for me too for the women to drink before starting their day. What a luxury.

A British friend told me how her husband brought her tea in bed each morning.. That was before Rick2 was in my life. I was jealous in a positive way.

Rick2 now brings me tea every morning, sometimes before I wake, sometimes by my first stretch. He varies the type from Yorkshire to other flavors. How wonderful to wake to the smell of caramel, vanilla or cinnamon tea. I still have Constant Comment, a favorite left, but when that is gone, we won't replace it. We buy nothing from the U.S. if we can help it.

Many mornings, Sherlock, our dog, will crawl under the duvet having decided it's much too early to go out. Rick2 will return to our bed either with his phone to check email, headlines or to read a book. We share things we're reading that we find interesting.

I wait for my tea to cool and drink maybe half my bowl saving the rest of breakfast. I fell in love with morning tea in a bowl when I first lived in France with a French family. When I tried to use the bowl of tea in one of my novels, I had to argue with my editor to not change it to mug or cup. I wonder if Louise Penny had the same problem when she used bowls for tea in some of her Three Pines novels.

I seldom read a British novel or see a British drama where someone doesn't say, "I'll put the kettle on?"

Thus... Would you like a cuppa? I'll put a the kettle on?

P.S. I find by writing about the good things in life, I can survive the horror of what is happening in my birth country, the Middle East, Ukraine and Somalia. Visit https://dlnelsonwriter.com to see D-L's many novels and her new non-fiction book, 300 Unsung Women.