It’s 61 degrees here, folks---an oddity in the course of all these nineties, and literally a cool breeze in the midst of our heat wave.
Everyone but us is gone on their daily rounds, and we’re sort of sleepily easing into the day---she with Tinkerbelle adventures and me with a third cup and a quick glance into a refreshing blog or two.
We’re planning a quiet day, perhaps a long walk if the weather holds back all that moisture hovering in the clouds, and the cool of the kitchen is just right for a nice baking of cookies to go with our afternoon tea.
And, since it's Caro's day off, we hope to spend some of it in a little pruning and readying for the second annual decorating of the Tree-Cup Tree. It's languished forlorn for months now, since all the bright ribbons and cups were removed for safekeeping for the Winter.
I wonder how many times in the course of a day a kettle is raised from the hob or taken from the burner or lifted from its electrical tuffet to pour the just-on-the-boil water over the waiting tea leaves.
There must be the incense from a smoky fire in countless places, the brazier still the norm---in the old places which still hold to the old times, from tribute, tradition or necessity. A cheery hob cradles a timeworn kettle in more homes than can be toted; great stoves like ship-prows hold vast kettles and vats, for the endless mugs and cups of strong, heartening brew; dainty pots are set upon hot plates, mugs are thrust into microwaves, and a very few draw their hot water directly from the faucet, fingers held beneath to test the temperature until necessity withdraws.
The lift and stream of the kettle in that age-old graceful motion, unmistakable in its contours and soothing in its quiet dance, spell a gracious moment, a refreshing hour. The interval from bag-dip to soothing sip can be in the space of a breath, and the reward just as vital.
This will probably be an extra-long day together, just Sweetpea and me. The “tea” might be Cambric in her small pot, with a little pot of Lapsang for me, or perhaps a bit of vanilla cream on this odd gift of a cool day, for huddling the cup and seeing the steam rise in the shade.
Remember the slipshod charm of this hastily-assembled "tea table" last year?
We’d love your company---there’s always plenty in the pot.