Teatime Tale #52 — A Year of Teatime

A Year of Teatime

December 31, 3 p.m.

Dear Journal,

            I’m not sure I should tell Rick about my latest dream. Ever since Katie and Josh gave me that Old Country Roses tea set for Christmas last year, I seem to have been on a real tea kick, going to tea rooms, shopping for teawares, and sipping more cups of tea than ever before in my life. I can’t help believing that’s one reason tea has been a part of my dreams on quite a few nights this year.

            Thank goodness I’ve made a habit of writing them down, because otherwise I’d never have recalled all those odd tea dreams of the past year. I remember having that first dream where my teacups were jealous of each other. At least that one made me conscious of switching out my teacups and not using the same old ones over and over.

            Then around St. Patrick’s Day, I had that vivid dream about leprechauns magically disguising themselves on teacups and traveling to America from Ireland. How bizarre! And just this fall, after I visited Florida and took granddaughter Olivia to see Cinderella at the movies, I dreamed about going to an antiques shop where I spotted a poor but beautiful forgotten teapot and her ugly teapot stepsisters.

            I can’t believe that when I told Rick about that one, he gently suggested, “Marsha, maybe you need to collect something else — like first edition books.” Sourpuss.

            I have to say, though, that I was more than a little pleased when I got that new Old Country Roses casual style teapot from Katie, Josh, and the children on Christmas day. And of all things, that night, I dreamed that I wrote a book that included all these strange tea tales. Like anyone would ever read such a thing …

            Still, I’m glad my daughter’s family got me hooked on collecting teawares, and they have certainly gotten me addicted to “all this tea stuff,” as Rick puts it. He’s just saying that because now I’ve gotten our granddaughter hooked on teatime too.

            Just as she usually does, Katie arrived early for Christmas, and I was thrilled to have her here, but I was especially delighted to have our adorable grandchildren, Olivia and Ethan. I can’t believe Olivia is three. And it seems like only yesterday I was headed down to Florida and Katie was giving birth to baby Ethan. Five months old, already!

            I’m not sure I’ll ever understand exactly what Josh does for a living there in Florida — something to do with cyber security — and why he has to come up later in December, but I don’t mind having some quality time with Katie before her husband gets here.

            On Christmas Eve, Rick and I gave Olivia a cute little tin tea set in a cardboard case, and after she opened it, she and I had tea together every day until they left. I do enjoy my loose leaf teas, but I don’t think I’ve ever had any tea I enjoyed more than those pretend cups of tea — just regular tap water — I had with Olivia.

            This Christmas, my heart has been so full. Really, my whole year has been. As I look back at my entries from January, I see I’d forgotten how worried I was about everything. I was worried about the new baby coming. I was worried about not having a long enough list of New Year’s Resolutions. I was worried that I worried too much. Who was that woman? I don’t miss her.

            Looking back to one year ago, I think Rick and Katie were right when they said I worried too much. I gave up thinking life is all about racking up accomplishments, and while I haven’t quite conquered all my Type A tendencies, I do think I’m much better about letting things go. Don’t you, Journal Dear?

            I mean, I no longer harp on Rick about all those ballgames he watches at this time of year. (Plus, I don’t want him harping on me about all the tearooms I’ve started visiting.)

            I didn’t worry about whether or not I got my two-mile walk in every single day. (And interestingly enough, I’m ending the year ten pounds lighter. Go figure.)

            I see I had also vowed not to worry about whether Josh could afford for his wife to be a stay-at-home mom. Whatever his job is, he must be good at it, because he got a promotion, and they bought a new SUV right before the baby was born.

            So I think I’m probably through making lists of anxiety-producing New Year’s Resolutions, and I’m going to stick with my goal of not worrying about things. Life was so much easier this year.

            Besides, I like what the pastor said on Sunday about how worrying means we’re having “faith in the negative.” I’ve always said I put my faith in God, and it’s time I started living like it.

            Finally, Dear Journal, one thing I absolutely do not intend to worry over in the coming year is my newfound passion for teatime. I think I have had some sort of teatime almost every single day of the past year! I always thought teatime had to be a big production with invitations and a guest list. I’ve had some of those, sure, but some of my best teatimes were those quiet moments in the afternoon that I spent with a cup of hot tea, enjoying a book (or writing in this Journal), all by myself. I predict that’s a tradition that will continue for many, many years to come.

            So thank you, Dear Journal, for joining me on this journey for the past year, and since you’ve still got a few more blank pages inside, I’ll see you in the new year too!

Love,

Marsha          

           

Teatime Tale #51 — Tea on Christmas Morning

Tea on Christmas Morning

            Mary woke at five a.m., just as she did almost every day of the year. Bill was still fast asleep, so she reached for the worn burgundy leather Bible on her nightstand and quietly headed up the hall and into the den.

            With her new red velvet ballet slippers warming her cold feet, she went to the kitchen and filled the electric teakettle with fresh water. It was a tradition of hers, beginning Christmas Day with a cup of tea and God.

            For some thirty years, she’d been adding pieces to the same Christmas pattern she had started collecting as a young bride. The warm ivory tones and the cheerful Christmas tree design always brought a smile to her face. After steeping a cup of her favorite peppermint-flavored black tea, she headed to the sofa, spread a fluffy green Christmas throw over her lap, and opened her Bible to the second chapter of Luke. She read the familiar words as she sipped her tea.

           

            And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

            Syria. Taxes. Fear. And courage. The topics were just as relevant two thousand years later, Mary thought. But she pushed all the recent news headlines out of her mind and tried, as she often did at Christmastime, to focus her wayward thoughts on the life-changing gift of the Christ child.

            Earlier that week, she’d reread a favorite piece by a favorite author, Max Lucado, in which he’d pondered “Twenty-five Questions for Mary.” He meant the other Mary, of course, but she always chose to imagine Max had intended the questions for her too.

            Her favorite was the one that read: “Did you ever think, That’s God eating my soup?” So practical, yet so thought-provoking. And like Max, Mary wondered if Mother-of-Jesus Mary thought about the food she was serving to the son who was also her savior.

            Mary ran her hand along the well-marked Bible passage and read again the words she so delighted in: “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”

            And then she whispered, Thank you, Lord.

            Snuggling beneath her green throw, Mary took a sip of tea and stared at the amber brew. She knew she had a full day ahead. In a few minutes, she would put the ham in the oven to bake. Then, she’d throw a few things in the crockpot to have appetizers ready when the family showed up at lunchtime. Her daughters and daughter-in-law would help with the casseroles and vegetables, and then they would enjoy opening presents together before enjoying their traditional Christmas dinner.

            After their meal, in another family tradition, Bill would pull out his old black leather Bible and share the Christmas story with the family members gathered around the table. Mary thought about how even the children liked to hear that amazing story each year, especially when Bill read it in what one of their grandsons called “his Bible voice.”

            Finishing her peppermint tea, Mary let her eyes scroll again through the passage in Luke. How fortunate she was to live in a day when her Messiah had already come, had already offered her the magnificent gift of eternal life.

            She knew that later that day, she was likely to open gifts that brought her much pleasure. A new bathrobe, perhaps, or a teacup or two for her collection. The grandchildren might give her a new photo book for the year—always a favorite gift—and Bill might surprise her with that new electric tea kettle she’d been hinting she would like.

            And however her Christmas Day ended, she knew nothing would top the fact that it began, just as always, with good tidings of great joy.

Teatime Tale #50 — The Baptists and Christmas Tea

The Baptists and Christmas Tea

           The Tea Society had just left my house after our annual Christmas Tea, and my dear friend Mary Lou Carter had stayed behind to help with cleanup. But first, I prepared us a nice big pot of Twinings Christmas Tea.

            “I love the little tags on these tea bags,” said Mary Lou. “But I thought you only drank loose-leaf tea. What gives?”

            “Lots of ladies in the Tea Society give me Christmas tea bags each year, and I’m happy to have them. In fact, I’m saving some of them for when I help Starla Mooneyham at our Women’s Ministry Christmas Tea next Saturday.”

            Mary Lou suddenly snorted some tea. She made a mess when she tried to clean it up, thoroughly staining one of my nice red napkins I had so carefully folded to look like Christmas roses. Not that I minded. I always said it was my pleasure to have friends enjoy my nice things.

            “You, Brenda Johnson, are helping the Starla Mooneyham, head of the Women’s Ministry, with the Christmas Tea?” Mary Lou sputtered. “Last I checked, you had forsaken the Baptist church and were becoming an Episcopalian after speaking at their big fall tea.”

            I always tried to keep my opinions to myself, but I was about to tell Mary Lou that she really needed to keep up if she wanted to know what was going on in town. “Now I know I told you what happened at that tea.”

            “The food was bad?”

            “No, it wasn’t bad at all,” I said. “They had some wonderful tea sandwiches, including my Waldorf Chicken Salad on Mini Croissants—the one they featured in Southern Lady magazine—and a cute little sandwich with fancy cucumber slices on top. Their scones were even served with real clotted cream someone had brought back from England.”

            “Then refresh my memory. What was the problem?” Mary Lou said.

            “They advertised my program topic as … high tea,” I said.

           

            Mary Lou just shook her head and reached for some of the chocolate truffles left over from the afternoon’s tea.

            “So how did you hook up with Starla Mooneyham?”

            “It was the oddest thing,” I said. “You probably don’t remember this, but earlier this year, Starla had turned up her nose at my chicken salad sandwiches—”

            “Oh, I do remember,” interrupted Mary Lou. “That’s why you got mad and left the church to begin with.”

            “I did not get mad,” I said, but Mary Lou was making me mad by not letting me finish. “Anyway, right after the Episcopal ladies’ tea, Starla called me one day in a panic. She said the secretary of the Women’s Ministry had accidentally ordered two thousand oversized plastic plates for the Christmas Tea. Starla said all the finger sandwiches looked puny on such a large plate, so she thought my Waldorf Chicken Salad on Mini Croissants would look pretty and take up more room.”

            Mary Lou polished off another truffle and wiped chocolate off her fingers with my pretty red napkin. I reminded myself that it was my joy to share my nice things with others.

            “Hey, is that a new teacup?” she said. She pointed at my English teacup with holly berries on it. I told her it was an early Christmas gift from Starla, who was thanking me for helping rescue the Christmas Tea.

            Mary Lou just nodded.

            Something about Mary Lou’s attitude had shifted, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She said she was glad I was “returning to the fold,” but she didn’t seem as happy as I expected that I was going back to being a Baptist.

            Mary Lou helped me wash and put away all the china, and she gathered up the napkins that had been folded into roses earlier in the day, including the one she had smeared the chocolate all over, not that I really minded.

            I told Mary Lou I wanted her to sit at the table with Starla and me at the Christmas Tea next Saturday. She said she would, but she didn’t seem too excited about it.

            “So now you and Starla are tight?” she said.

            “Not really. Why?”

            “First you’re helping her with the tea, then she’s bringing you a nice teacup for Christmas. I just wondered if she was going to be your new BFF of teatime, that’s all.”

            That was when I realized it: Mary Lou was jealous. So I reached over and covered her hand with my own. “Starla Mooneyham’s a nice enough person, and I’m happy she finally came to her senses about using my recipe for the church tea, but she could never replace you as my best tea friend. Why, do you know, Starla asked me if I collected tea diffusers last week when the tea committee met.”

            “Diffusers!” Mary Lou chortled. “She means infusers!”

            “Yes,” I said. “And she originally wanted to advertise the Christmas Tea as ‘high tea’ until I explained things to her.”

            “For heaven’s sake,” Mary Lou said, perking up.

            Soon, we finished tidying up after the day’s tea. Mary Lou was headed out the door when she turned and said, “Will you and Cliff be home tomorrow evening before church? I’ll be out delivering my holiday jars of pimiento cheese spread, and I’d like to bring yours by if that’s okay.”

            I told her we’d be home and would eagerly await the arrival of her famous pimiento cheese.

            “I’m glad you’re back to being a Baptist,” Mary Lou said. “We’ve missed you. I can’t wait ’til you join the church again and make it official.”

            “Oh, I never officially left,” I said. “I guess the Lord knew He was going to need me back with the Baptists.”

            Mary Lou chuckled and hugged me goodbye. “Oh, Brenda,” she said. Sometimes, I almost felt that Mary Lou was just a little bit condescending to me for some strange reason.

            But then again, I always kept my opinions about such things to myself. Especially at Christmas.

Teatime Tale #49 - "Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!"

"Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!"

           Gilda Donnelly rapped her gavel on the podium to open the Fortieth Annual Convention of the International Santa Claus Mug Collectors Society. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please.”

            The lights in the ballroom blinked off and on twice, signaling it was time for the opening of the group’s highly anticipated fortieth anniversary convention.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the International Santa Claus Mug Collectors Society, it is my privilege to welcome you to the beautiful city of Orlando!”

            The audience responded with hearty applause, and Gilda smiled and joined in. She was thrilled for the chance to leave chilly Chicago behind for the weekend and enjoy a trip to sunny central Florida.

            Once she had everyone’s attention, Gilda explained Friday afternoon’s schedule. For the first time, organizers had decided not to distribute convention programs until after the welcome session. Otherwise, they knew, many attendees would skip the welcome and go straight to the afternoon sessions. This year’s offerings included The History of Santa Claus Mugs, How to Value a Santa Claus Mug Collection for Insurance Purposes, Crafting a Creative Santa Claus Mug Display, and the session she would lead, Santa Claus Mugs and Their Role in Popular Culture.

            Also new this year was an afternoon Hot Chocolate Social at which the attendees would receive their Official Commemorative Santa Claus Mug. An artist in Scotland had won the competition to design this year’s mug, and Santa’s famous red hat featured a band of Scottish tartan.

            No other Santa Claus mugs in the world, however, meant as much to Gilda as the three she'd kept from childhood. Her family—her father and mother, her three older brothers, and Gilda—had always posed for a Christmas Eve photo in their new Christmas pajamas, Santa mugs in hand. Most of those beloved mugs had been broken or tossed out over the years, so Gilda treasured the one she had convinced her mother to give her. In addition to that one, she had two child-sized Santa mugs she had used with her dolls.

            Gilda’s mugs were some of the ones on display in the exhibit hall. Each year, convention goers were invited to showcase their favorite Santa mugs, and anyone who wanted to could include a brief story about their mugs in the event program.

            Since Gilda had been serving as president of the collectors’ society for three years, all but the newest attendees were familiar with her three treasured mugs. Still, each year, someone came up to her to say how much they appreciated the fact that she had kept the mementos of childhood. Many of the attendees wished they had their own childhood Santa mugs. Often, it was that nostalgia that caused someone to begin collecting the mugs in the first place.

            Like Marilee Hopkins of Australia, who still had her first childhood Santa mug. Marilee had more than three thousand Santa Claus mugs at last count, with no duplicates allowed. She loved to find the primitive-looking ones that some unknown woman had created in ceramics class. She devoted hours to visiting online auction sites to make sure she didn’t miss one.

            The afternoon’s four sessions were held simultaneously, and each session would be repeated three more times before the end of the convention the next day. That way, attendees had the opportunity to participate in all four sessions if they wanted.

            During the afternoon’s Hot Chocolate Social, Gilda walked over to the beverage station and looked for the basket of teas. Not everyone liked hot chocolate, so coffee and tea were always offered as well. The convention committee knew Gilda was partial to peppermint tea.

            The afternoon of programs went off without a hitch. That evening, everyone gathered for a banquet where they enjoyed a concert of Christmas carols, ate a traditional Christmas meal, and honored the officers and volunteers who had served the organization over the past year.

            At the end of the long day, Gilda headed back to her room and sipped a cup of tea from one of her newer Santa mugs. One year, a reporter interviewing her about the convention noticed she was sipping her tea from a paper cup, and his article took delight in noting that the president of a Santa Claus mug collectors group didn’t always use her Santa Claus mugs. Never again, she had vowed. Not when she had about three hundred Santa Claus mugs of her own.

            The next morning, Gilda and the others headed back to the meeting rooms to repeat the programming from the day before. As always, it was a fun but frenzied time of leading the sessions, seeing old friends, making new ones, and answering hundreds of questions about Santa Claus mugs.

            Finally, everyone gathered back in the ballroom for Saturday's closing session. One of the highlights of the convention each year came when a charitable gift was made in the name of one lucky attendee. All the names were printed on slips of paper and placed in a large papier mâché Santa Claus mug. Gilda reached in and stirred the entries. To be sure the newcomers understood how the drawing worked, she explained what she was doing. “Each year, in the spirit of giving, we like to conclude by choosing one attendee who receives a five-hundred-dollar donation to the charity of their choice. And this year’s winner is”—she paused for dramatic emphasis—“Richard Merriman of Nashville, Tennessee!”

            Everyone clapped as Richard headed to the stage. “But first,” Gilda said, “he has to prove he knows the magic words.” She spoke into the microphone and asked, “Richard, what are they?”

            Slowly, he replied, “Ho. Ho. Ho. Merry. Christmas!”

            “That’s correct, Richard, and according to what you wrote on your registration form, the donation this year goes to the Salvation Army. Congratulations!”

            Gilda pounded her gavel again. “And now, it is my pleasure to lead everyone in closing our meeting with those same magic words. And they are?”

            “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!”