"Come, let us have tea and continue to talk about happy things..."
-Chaim Potok ( 1929-2002) (author)
Even Spencer-from-the-hill is always ready for tea. Spencer the wise. Cat Plant in his pot. Bring on the goodies, says Spencer.
Tea is something I love. Not the food part. Or the tea part. I just love the whole ritual . I could quite happily sit ,just listening to my friends talk, telling stories, watching them sit eat yummy things and asking for more tea. That's the part I like. I want my friends to be happy. To be content.
I always put out the antique heirloom china. The sugar tongs, lace doilies and a gold tray. Mostly because the china sits on the shelf quite a bit and it's a shame not to use them. It's like a step back.My mother had several tea sets she would rotate when people were over.
A place to sit, in the quiet. Where old china breathes once more. Where friends can come and sit, and bury their faces in fruitcake. Or little cakes. Or tarts. Swatting away bees and moths.
Years ago, my mother would bake for days. And days. Shortbread, fruitcake, pound cake, little jam tarts, and sandwiches made with white bread , the crusts cut off. Asparagus rolled with cream cheese, ham sandwiches....not the canned stuff, mind you.....ham from a ham roast, chopped and blended with pickles. Watercress sandwiches......heaven.
She would have tea in the dining room on a starched white table cloth, laid out with various tea cups and plates. The stereo would be set to play Montavani. My job was to reset the needle, or turn the record, or ( if I was feeling extra enthusiastic) put on "Jim Nabors sings the Classics".
These days I I tend to haunt bake shops. For little things for tea. Yummy. And this time I found two little fruitcakes ( in my freezer) from Xmas. Slices of the rich cake with Earl Grey tea. Steaming from the pot. Even on a hot hot day....sizzle sizzle.
"I frequently dream of having tea with the Queen...." -Hugh Grant
Most of the people who would come over for one of my mother's teas knew it was understood that there would also be LIVE music. I always tried to get out of it, but there would be a lull in the tea and the shortbread and the chewing. And the gossip.....conversations about people long dead. Or conversations about people who might be dead. My mother would clear her throat, and regale her guests of my musical prowess. You could feel the silence. Everyone knew what was coming.
I would be obliged to haul out the violin and play my latest piece. Usually some dreadful Back unaccompanied thing. Or an entire first movement of a Handel sonata. Scrape. Scrape I would play. Then when done, my mother would announce that I would play piano now. SO, clunk clunk clunk I would play. I wonder, to this day, how many people were gripping their teacups against the noise. Nothing really wrong with the idea. But I was less than willing.For years, I resented it, but when I was older realized that she had me do it because it made her happy.
When we bought this house, the old porch was unused. Mainly stored fishing gear and tarps along with a broken barbecue.Now it houses planters, cats IN planters, cozy places for humans to sit, flowers stuffed into stairs. And mud sloshed about from planters....maybe a few bees.Some hummingbirds, maybe a few wasps. Oh, and slugs.......must not forgot the slugs.
Just quality time with those you love.....
“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
Photographs 2018
