Cups of Tea

Rita called yesterday and asked me to come over to Nana's house and pick out what I might want of the glasses and plates. I didn't really want to go, but Tab said I ought to.

Dad had come over this morning at Tab's request to show him the best way of changing the tires on the kids' bikes. When they were through, Tab took Bunny and the twins to Sports Authority to buy swimming goggles (the boys' swimming lessons start tomorrow), while Dad and I went back to Nana's house.

Once--not very long ago, either--Nana's house was a haven of loveliness. Now it is an appalling mess of boxes and papers and debris. The process of emptying the house will be neither pretty nor quick.

I didn't want to look too closely at the wreck of Nana's living room, so I went straight to the china cabinet in the dining area and opened the door. I lingered in front of the open cabinet, trying to decide what, if anything I wanted. My vision blurred with unshed tears as I looked over the crystal and china. They were some of Nana's most prized possessions; it seems horribly wrong that they are still here but she is gone.

The first thing that caught my eye was a pair of teacups and saucers with tiny shamrocks on them. They weren't a matching set, but they were both from Ireland, probably mementos of Nana's trip. On the shelf above them was a set of stemmed dessert goblets, heavy crystal, very elegant. I thought I should ask for them, but my eyes were drawn back to the teacups.

How many cups of tea did Nana and I enjoy together, sitting in her sunny kitchen? Tea was always a ceremony with Nana. I loved to watch her bustle about the kitchen: placing the cup and saucer in front of me, warming the teapot with hot water, lifting the shrieking kettle from the range, and pouring the steeped tea into my cup. Often she would produce some appetizing treat to go along with the tea: buttered raisin toast, or tea biscuits, or ginger snaps. We would sit and talk about anything and nothing, and time would stand still for as long as it took for the last drop of tea to be swallowed.

How I wish I could have one more cup of tea with her!

In the end, it was not hard to make a decision. Not hard at all. I wrote my name down on small pieces of masking tape and stuck them on the bottom of the two tea cups and saucers. One day, after Rita and her siblings finally divide up the china, I will sit at my kitchen table and drink a cup of tea out of a shamrock teacup in memory of Nana.

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