Withdrawal

How does one cope? What can one do? How might one ever recover from twelve straight days of taking tea? Tea in a bakery. Tea in a pub. Tea in a shop. 

Tearooms, remember, are tucked into every self-respecting establishment and place of business in Ireland. Tea at a fancy hotel, in the solemnity of a museum, in an ancient castle, a quaint farmhouse, a  formal flower garden, a welcoming church. Tea over looking the Irish Sea, above green valleys, at the base of rolling hills, alongside cafe windows being pelted with rain. Tea for comfort from winds blowing through the heather, across the moor. Tea at day's end steeped in the warmth of friendship.  

Tea is both an art and an everyday occurrence that makes everyday-days special, and special occasions, more so.  Tea can be opulent with gourmet accoutrements. On the other hand, nothing is diminished when it is served in the humblest of means alongside lentil soup and Irish brown bread. Unhurried hospitality begins with a well-stocked pantry. Shopping or baking for a spontaneous tea-time works, too.  Shortbread cookies, savory tarts, cream filled pastries, sausages, cheeses, breads and cakes (they are oh-so-cute in those enamelware tins labeled CAKE kept high on a shelf) are among favorite options. The thing that struck me most about peeking into the tea rooms in a government building or department store was the homogeneous mix of young and old, male and female, absolutely taking their ease. No one appeared to be in a hurry to return to work or to shopping. There was no frenzy to make a table available for the next customer. Bills were not brought by the servers until they were requested by the patron, the assumption being that one had come to share time as well as sustenance. I like that. I wanted to package the conviviality and bring it home. 

So, along with memories of the Emerald Isle, I am intentionally keeping the tea tradition forefront. The tray is set. Little dainties are tucked into the pantry and fridge. I need only to put the kettle to boil and invite my guest to choose a cup from my own tea cupboard. We will sit and sip and share. (And if she seems to like looking at my hundreds  of Ireland photos, she is sure to be invited back again.) For now, it is time to get back to real life. But upon leaving after tea, instead of saying "have a good day", one says in one's best Irish accent, authentically exuberant over shared reverie, "all the best" or "safe home".

Tah-tah for now.

"Nobody sees a flower, really--it is so small--we haven't time and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time."

Georgia O'Keefe