“Writing is a job, a talent, but it’s also the place to go in your head. It is the imaginary friend you drink your tea with in the afternoon.”
― Ann Patchett, Truth and Beauty

I love a cup of tea though I hardly ever take the time to make a small pot just for myself. It seems civilized, drinking tea, doesn’t it? I have my mother’s porcelain tea pots and her antique sterling silver set.  I have several kitchen shelves filled with boxes of loose tea and tea bags, along with tea strainers and other paraphernalia.  Just opening the cabinet door where these things are stored brings me comfort.

Growing up my mother often served tea with cheese and crackers just before bedtime. To this day I continue to add milk and sugar to my tea just as I did when a child. I can’t imagine that my mother ever thought, as she brought a tray of tea up the stairs to the second floor bedroom/sitting room where my father and I waited, that this experience would become a favorite memory of mine. In my mind’s eye, sipping a cup of  Earl Gray, my parents come back to me; the three of us together again.

“There is something in the nature of tea that leads us into a world of quiet contemplation of life.”
― Lin Yutang, The Importance Of Living