I just wanted to say that today must be marked down in history as the first day my eldest daughter made me a cup of tea.
She made it all by herself with my favourite tiny creamer jug and the mug I love and her own sugar bowl from her Nana and her teapot from Auntie J'aime that used to be Kira's.
In my house, in my parents house, tea = home. When we walk in the door at my Mum and Dad's first one in puts the kettle on. Something bad happens, good happens, a long day, a good chat, all require tea. My Mum and my friend Jan can both make tea that has healing powers in it.
When I returned from California, where the beloved friends I had there rarely drank tea, my Auntie Gill and dear friend Jennifer together made me a cup of tea to drink with a piece of cake without being asked, and without needing to ask how I took it, they just put it in my hands. I wept with the comfort of being with them, and being known.
I come from fantastic stock. I like to think that Ruby and Bert Payne and Nell and Bert Moloney got to have a little peek on the earth-cam from their spots in heaven of their great-granddaughter making her Mum a cup of tea. A delight indeed. I can see their grins all around.
1 comment:
I did read this one the day your wrote it, but in my rather dimwitted state lately, forgot that I had read it. I love that tea and me go together in your head even a little and I thank you for writing this down so that I could share a little of this moment with you, vicariously, through your words, as your whole blog and all that you are doing with it has been doing for me.
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