Tea and Sympathy

• "Isn't it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different".  ~C.S. Lewis

A shy classmate in my kindergarten class admitted at circle time that her mother let her drink tea.  Our teacher gasped and looked askance and said that little children should never be allowed to drink tea.  I stayed silent as tea was the beverage of choice at our house every Saturday at breakfast and always when one was sick in bed with a cold.  Both my grandmothers drank tea - one - the indulgent one, gave us "tea time" every Saturday at 3:00 when we gleefully spoiled our dinner with tea, potato chips and M & M's.  My brother was also allowed ten consecutive teaspoonfuls of sugar into his delicate bone china tea cup.  This I know because I counted each out loud. One...two...three...four...

With my other grandmother, tea was more refined.  We sat at her table with silver spoons, cloth napkins and small sandwiches.  But at both houses, tea was always sympathy...and love.

I drank gallons of tea this week.  The stress of the election coupled with too many, too-early signs of the holidays bearing down, had me reaching for the tea box regularly, even at work.  One simply cannot help but slow down when there is a warm brewing cup in the hand.

I have friends who visit often for a chat and a cup of tea.  As soon as I see my "tea-friends" car, I put the kettle on.  And when I visit them, they have my favorite mug heated and waiting.  Tea time is our text, our email...our network.  It is the way we touch hands and receive understanding for life's inevitable speed bumps.  In the time it takes to drink just one cup, we sort through the tough week at work, an elderly father's unexpected fall, or a grown child's move to a distant town.  We nod in communion over tea, offering each other something as warming as the fragrant elixir in our cups.

My kindergarten teacher may have believed that tea stunted children's growth or something similarly old-fashioned.  But I believe tea along with sympathy makes us grow -  in strength, if not in stature.

A Green Dress

When I was young and fresh from college, I took a job working for seven male engineers.  I was shy but they were not.  All were nice men and work was completed, but there was a lot of jockeying and teasing among them and being in a predominately male office, I often felt intimidated.  Looking back, I can see that I was oblivious to any attention they may have given me except for the affected hard time I got whenever I asked for their weekly time sheets on Friday mornings.  But I soon discovered that I was also oblivious to my own charms as well.

Like most of my girlfriends, an alarmingly significant part of my paycheck went to clothes.  I was on my own for the first time and excited by the freedom I had to buy pretty new outfits for work and parties.  I recall a tissue-wool mulberry skirt that gently skimmed my calves. I wore it with a romantic cream chiffon blouse with wide leg-o-mutton sleeves ending in cuffs with two pearl buttons apiece.  I remember several novelty sweaters with feminine details such as embroidered yokes and knit waist ties...and a winter coat - a sweeping nutmeg balmacaan, lined with burnt orange satin as slippery as mercury.

The seven engineers were not impervious to my wardrobe and would often have something to say. But they were innocent casual remarks, such as "I like your shoes".  For the most part, they talked boisterously among themselves and left me to order supplies and type reports for them in the background.

One lunch hour, I ducked into a small shop - an old iconic place in town. It was there that I spotted a beautiful silky green dress as fresh as a lawn of lush summer grass.  The knowing and grandmotherly saleswoman insisted I try it on and when I did, I was a goner.  Its chaste puffed sleeves belied a curvaceous line and beguiling teeny buttons ran from neckline to hem.  The moire silk winked with a now-you-see-it-now-you-don't allure and it made a faint but fetching swishing sound when I walked.  It seemed a very rare garment and I bought it.

When I wore my new dress to the office the next morning, I noticed my engineers were uncharacteristically subdued.  After removing the plastic cover from my typewriter, I glanced behind me to see if they were actually in the office.  Startled, I saw seven pairs of eyes upon me.  Just as my face registered growing confusion, one finally spoke with a voice uncharacteristically thick with uncertainty. "Are we in green today, Miss Macdonald?", he quietly asked.