The Tea Set

“I could do worse than become my own grandma, or anyone of the strong women who raised us. Our strengths emerged from theirs; we build on their heritage and transform their resilience and competence into our own.”

— Regina Barreca

On an aged built-in shelf, among glass plates, gilded cutlery, and ornate serving dishes, sits a nearly 150-year old tea set. The story of how I came to be in possession of such a treasure is one of admiration and respect, grief and acceptance, joy and Love. It is sweet, simple, and perfectly ordinary. And it is more. For the attentive and discerning, there are all the heroines and heroes, goddesses and gods, legendary battles, and brave rescues of any epic tale, and even a quest to save the world that spans generations.

Antique tea set by Ali Ramazan Çiftçi

My grandmother left us in every way that mattered at the beginning of the pandemic but I didn’t really understand that at the time. A stroke coupled with the isolation of lock-downs took their toll on her mind, but she still moved through life, body intact; and her mere breath was enough to ground an entire family. When it became clear she and my grandfather would need more support, they were moved to an assisted living facility and their house of over 30 years was sold quickly. Most of their material possessions – those things they had chosen to color their nearly century long lives – were boxed, sold, donated, or thrown away.

But the intangible things - the things that really matter, the things that had been built on a foundation of Love and moved with care through the rest of us – remained. My grandmother had been the chief builder. Aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, cousins and second cousins came and went, sorted and packed, and did what they could to support the transition. There was a season of impromptu family reunions during this time. Stories were told to captive audiences. Childhood songs were sung in full harmony, the nostalgia somehow rubbing off on even those who were not part of the original chorus. My little ones were swept up in the arms of older cousins who showed them games, told them jokes, and taught them their lineage all the while. All held a sick aunt just a little closer and gazed at her just a little longer. There was palpable laughter and unspoken sadness and family in motion. We moved like a procession of butterflies, journeying from north to south and back again - the journey so rich with sights and sounds, living and dying, becoming and evermore becoming, as to be the real destination.

During one such visit days before my grandmother’s house was to be sold, I stepped inside and was struck by quiet that was almost touchable. There was no coming and going, no busy and bustle, not even distant laughter or conversation. Or perhaps I had tuned it all out. I walked slowly into the foyer, placing hands and feet where my grandmother’s had been thousands of times. I looked at pictures and little knick-knacks on a small table near the front door and felt life as a kind of prayer. And then I saw her dishes. They seemed suspended in time and space, displayed with her signature precision and care, speaking of the family they had been used to cultivate, unrelentingly bearing witness to everything good and true and real about her.

My grandmother often created Love out of thin air and she had an arsenal of tools to help her - a sewing machine, apple pies, idioms and familiar expressions, spiritual wisdom, ways of organizing and managing day to day, near obsessive cleanliness, and certainly her dishes. As I stood there, I had visions of Thanksgiving dinners and birthday celebrations with laughs around my table. I could see Tuesday teas with my daughters, blueberry muffins in serving dishes embellished with gold, and little hands holding tiny tea cups. I could see myself practicing the art of gluten free pie making using my grandmother’s pie pan (not sure how she would feel about the gluten free part). All of this unfolded in an instant. I had the thought of something important being lost, something that needed to be saved, and whether it was something of the past or the future, I didn’t know. None of it really registered in my conscious awareness at the time. I only felt urgency. “We can’t leave them,” I cried to my mother, reality coming back into focus.

My mother sensed my agitation and we grabbed boxes and began to pack. My daughters watched, understanding more and more Love, animated by Life, with each dish placed into the boxes. We packed most of the serving bowls, trays, silverware, and tablecloths from a stately china cabinet, and as soon as I took a sigh of relief, my mother and I realized we had just begun. Scores of dishes sat neatly in kitchen cabinetry, the old tea set among them. I packed and packed, in a frenzy to squeeze as many dishes in the car as would fit. Somewhere along the way, I began to cry, the overwhelm of the moment just too much for me, the weight of all the Love of this woman bearing down on me. I grasped and held every memory I could with every plate, every glass, and every tray I wrapped. “What’s wrong?” my daughters fretted with furrowed little brows. “She’s saying good-bye,” my mother said softly, understanding more than I did.

My grandmother passed away, this time in body and presence, very shortly thereafter. Grief is an interesting thing in that you can acutely feel the pain of deep loss and yet you can still hold joy. It shows us just how big we are. I have so much joy and gratitude for this woman I grew so close to over the years. I have learned so much about how to be, how to walk in the world with grace and dignity, how to live in Love. I have learned about commitment to creating a little piece of Life that is mine and making it as beautiful as I can. And I have learned about bringing others with me, not through force of will, but through steadfastly holding the truth of who they are, even when they cannot hold it themselves.

Since then, beautiful this and lovely that have made their way into my old cabinetry, joining the dishes of my other grandmother. I have had tea with my daughters using the old tea set, teaching them reverence with each “be careful.” And I have stepped more and more into my name – Eileen, shining Light – a name I inherited from her long before I somehow inherited her dishes, a name passed in form to one daughter and in substance to the other. I have come to understand that while my pies will be imperfect and I will never sew suits without a pattern, her real legacy is the Love she mixed with granules of sugar and infused in spools of thread. And I can meet her there – in kissing the flour-covered faces of my girls as they help me bake, in ironing patches on little pants, in sipping tea in reverie at an old tea set, and in all the little things done in perfectly perfect Love.

Tea Time

“No matter where you are in the world, you are at home when tea is served.”

— Earlene Grey

Tea, book, and flowers by Ioana Motoc

“There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.” Henry James, Portrait of a Lady. Y’all, I have very few rituals that don’t involve tea. I work, pray, meditate, journal, create, and have my deepest conversations with tea; and when I stopped drinking alcohol (IKR), I doubled down on my favorite herbal infusions. In short, tea drinking is my jam. The steam coming off a piping hot cup instantly creates space for me to breathe for a moment. I hope you’ll spend some time relaxing too, even if it’s just a half hour. Here are some tips to make the most of your tea time:

My Top 5 Tea Time Tips:

1. Light a candle because what are you even doing if you’re sipping tea without a candle?

2. Warm up your feet. I don’t know what it is but a change of clothes for my feet seems to usher in an immediate shift in the way I feel. Simply putting on soft socks or cozy slippers morphs the energy. And I always turn on my space heater for an added boost.

3. Smell. Right after I’ve steeped my tea, I like to pull the cover off and deeply inhale. It’s a way to get thrust instantly into mindfulness.

4. Listen to music. I made a playlist just for you!

5. Settle in and read a bit of something beautiful. Here are 10 of my favorites (though I reserve the right to edit this list often, as I read all the time):

   • The Invitation, Oriah Mountain Dreamer

   • Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer

   • Bella Grace Magazine (any issue)

   • Edge of Wonder, Victoria Erickson

   • Your Soul is a River, Nikita Gill

   • I Heard God Laughing, Hafiz

   • Tiny Beautiful Things, Cheryl Strayed

   • The Enchanted April, Elizabeth Von Arnim

   • The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett

   • Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston

Please note, these tips are solely for the unpretentious - the tea sippers that swoon at pretty blends, lovely names, and fragrant smells; may or may not steep their tea properly; love honey way too much; and have absolutely no clue about the difference between afternoon and high tea (I had to look it up). Enjoy!

Love in all things,

April Eileen