Tea and Shortbread -- with a nod to Proust

I’m having my first afternoon cup of (almost) fall tea - chamomile, sweetened with honey – and it is a moment to savor. The cool weather tricks me into feeling that it is fall, even though we are likely to have more hot days in the months ahead. And the overcast skies add to the illusion that the hot days are behind us. It is now almost 4 o’clock, and I can indulge in a few minutes of restoration with my chamomile, my Tuesday cup (which is rare in that it works just as well for tea as it does for coffee), and my shortbread cookie.

How many memories are generated by this single event? Memories associated with various senses jumble together to remind me of bits and pieces of my life. Unlike Proust with his tea and madeline, I cannot pull up multiple details of a single vivid memory. Instead, I feel a wash of memories, all detached from one another, yet somehow connected by the thread of my life.

The tea is its own pleasure in this moment, yet it’s also a reminder of countless other cups of tea which have brought comfort and connection on other afternoons. Tea alone enhances the pleasure of solitude. Tea shared with a friend is a ritual of community.

Uncle Cliff liked tea. Although I’m truly a coffee drinker, there are times when only tea will do. I remember times when the whole family was together and everyone else was drinking coffee. Having tea with Uncle Cliff set us apart just a bit, and created a link between us. I think he was the one who taught me to sweeten my tea with honey.

I have memories of tea with Uncle Jack, too. The last time I went to visit him, just months before he died, he was confined to a wheelchair and experiencing so many limitations. It was November, and it was Idaho cold. I wanted my afternoon tea. He had some with me each day that I was there, and we talked and shared as much as he was able at that point.

Most of my memories of Uncle Jack involve the two of us talking alone in a room while others were away or asleep. When we shared our cups of tea he still had some very lucid moments and was able to tell me stories of his friendship with my parents, his marriage to Aunt Elaine, and even some of the humorous things he had recently experienced in the confusion that surrounded that time of his life.

And the shortbread cookie? I remember my mom’s love for Pecan Sandies. She always had them in the house. I haven’t always shared her love for them. I could take them or leave them. . . until I began combining them with my afternoon tea. They then took on a whole new pleasure. Now whenever I have a shortbread cookie, I think of my mom, and I want a cup of tea.