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.
