A group of us were talking about fasting the other day, and how important it is to be capable of giving up something, even something lovely and lawful, for a time, to give yourself to other things.
“What do you really love?” Mrs Eva asked me. And before I could think to stop myself and pick something else I loved a little less, I said with profound sigh and far-off look, “Afternoon tea.”
Mrs. Mary taught me to love tea. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying that if you want someone to love the truth, you must tell them a story. Well, that is what Mrs. Mary does. She’s never said anything about tea in itself— the health benefits or the history and nobility of the art, for instance. She offers no defense. She simply asks me, and asks me again and again, throughout the seasons of the years, to come in. Come for tea, Sarie, she says, and let me show you love and real comfort.
Her idea of tea is a feast. In every way, she feeds you… in the place settings and the smells and in the stacks of books piled up everywhere around her house, I leave full. But even on days when it’s just a quick solitary cup while milking in the barn, it was Mrs. Mary who taught me to enjoy the taste of the tea itself, apart from the cream and sugar, and of the beauty of the vessel and the warm feel of it in my hand. And it was she who taught me, by giving her time, that it is not a waste of time.
I did something uncharacteristic and remarkably grownup yesterday and looked ahead on my calendar. And— lo and behold!— today is National Hot Tea Day, in case you didn’t know. And although I’m usually at odds with government level decisions, in general and particular, I would have to say that this one sounds like a jolly good idea. So please make yourself a cup, or better yet, a pot, and have a spot with me today in honor of Mrs. Mary. There are, indeed, days when I fast from this good thing, but it’s not this day.