Tea

Yesterday we had some of Tom's colleagues over for tea. The idea of having a cocktail party or hosting a dinner makes me edgy, but I'm always up for afternoon tea. Now that I'm the proud owner of not one but two 3-tiered serving trays, I am unstoppable. We had scones, mini quiches, 3 kinds of tea sandwiches, strawberries, HobNobs, and Cadbury Fingers--plus, of course, tea and tea fixings.


Having afternoon tea makes me nostalgic. When I lived in England, I was a volunteer visitor for the organization Age Concern. Nearly every Sunday, I'd ride my one-speed bike out east of Oxford and have tea with Brenda, an elderly woman who was nearly blind. She had no children, and I had no family in the country, so we took comfort in the visits, even if they were sometimes awkward. She would shuffle around her kitchen and make lukewarm, milky tea; from her, I learned that knowing how someone takes their tea (milk? how many sugars?) is a sign of intimacy. She served me ham and butter or egg and tomato sandwiches--and the occasional biscuit--while the TV played snooker or soap operas in the background.

My first year in England, I tutored a 13-year-old girl whose family was from Pakistan. They lived in a small row home with brightly painted walls. Halfway through the session, her mother would bring up a tray with tea and chocolate digestive biscuits, and we'd stop for a snack. I still remember Miriam's essay about the happiest day of her life: when her mother had finally had a baby boy, a son at last after several daughters. The whole family had rejoiced. The idea that Miriam would unquestioningly value her brother more than her sisters made me sad, but I commented only on grammar and punctuation.

My final tea in England was after my viva, the oral exam given at the end of my master's program. Students went in the morning to answer questions, and then waited for our results to be posted to find out whether we would get credit for our two years of work. Another student, her mother, and I went across the street to a tea shop for tea and scones. That tea was memorable not for the food, which I barely tasted, but for my stomach-churning nervousness. When, after waiting a decent interval, we crossed the street again, we were happy to find out we had both passed.