A Story of Tea Cups
As my grandmother climbed into her 80’s, I think she
recognized that time was winding down. And
though it hurts to remember, I wasn’t too surprised the day she announced, “Your
grandfather and I are going back to Canada next spring for one last time”. She and “Puppy” took a trip to Nova Scotia every
couple of years to visit Pictou and Prince Edward Island. Although it was the place where my
grandfather spent his childhood, it was a world much more fully embraced by “Nana
Mac” who found inspiration in the craggy landscape and especially in my
grandfather’s rich Scottish heritage.
recognized that time was winding down. And
though it hurts to remember, I wasn’t too surprised the day she announced, “Your
grandfather and I are going back to Canada next spring for one last time”. She and “Puppy” took a trip to Nova Scotia every
couple of years to visit Pictou and Prince Edward Island. Although it was the place where my
grandfather spent his childhood, it was a world much more fully embraced by “Nana
Mac” who found inspiration in the craggy landscape and especially in my
grandfather’s rich Scottish heritage.
I tried to visit my grandparents weekly, making trips from
rural Western Massachusetts to their Boston apartment. One afternoon, soon after my grandmother’s proclamation,
I found that she had laid a cloth over the leather card table she kept folded
in the living room. But instead of our
customary lunch of chicken salad sandwiches and iced tea, she had strewn twelve
tea cups with matching saucers across the snowy cloth. Oh was I ever familiar with those beautiful
cups – each one a different eye-catching pattern. They were all dainty and delicate as bone china
is, but the varying motifs and colors had been deeply alluring to my young
self. Of course, my sister and I were
never allowed to play with the cups but they were regularly brought down from
the hutch in the dining room and put into service for Nana Mac’s bewitching
afternoon tea parties for us. We learned
the value of fine things at her knee and loved the uniquely individual cups and
saucers.
rural Western Massachusetts to their Boston apartment. One afternoon, soon after my grandmother’s proclamation,
I found that she had laid a cloth over the leather card table she kept folded
in the living room. But instead of our
customary lunch of chicken salad sandwiches and iced tea, she had strewn twelve
tea cups with matching saucers across the snowy cloth. Oh was I ever familiar with those beautiful
cups – each one a different eye-catching pattern. They were all dainty and delicate as bone china
is, but the varying motifs and colors had been deeply alluring to my young
self. Of course, my sister and I were
never allowed to play with the cups but they were regularly brought down from
the hutch in the dining room and put into service for Nana Mac’s bewitching
afternoon tea parties for us. We learned
the value of fine things at her knee and loved the uniquely individual cups and
saucers.
“Pick six!” Nana Mac directed me as she gleefully clapped her hands together. I didn’t have to
think too long – I already knew which of the beautiful cups were my favorites. I shyly pointed to the two rose-sprigged cups first
– one in coral pink and one in baby blue, then the very unusual harlequin cup,
and at last, the three etched in gold. Nana
Mac carefully wrapped my selections in newspaper and then placed them in a
brown paper bag. When she finished, she
leaned into me with a conspiratorial wink and whisper, “You selected all my favorites”. I was delighted when after that chicken salad
and iced tea lunch, the plain paper bag with its fragile treasures was thrust
into my arms with a kiss.
think too long – I already knew which of the beautiful cups were my favorites. I shyly pointed to the two rose-sprigged cups first
– one in coral pink and one in baby blue, then the very unusual harlequin cup,
and at last, the three etched in gold. Nana
Mac carefully wrapped my selections in newspaper and then placed them in a
brown paper bag. When she finished, she
leaned into me with a conspiratorial wink and whisper, “You selected all my favorites”. I was delighted when after that chicken salad
and iced tea lunch, the plain paper bag with its fragile treasures was thrust
into my arms with a kiss.
Nana Mac never did make that final journey to her beloved Nova
Scotia with my grandfather. She died unexpectedly on a clear cold morning in
early winter. And it wasn’t until spring
that year when my sister finally opened her own bundle of cups and saucers. As we poured hot tea into two of the precious
bestowals, I noticed my sister’s voice becoming thick and soft with emotion. “Nana
said she saved her favorites for me”. Or so I thought I heard her whisper…
Scotia with my grandfather. She died unexpectedly on a clear cold morning in
early winter. And it wasn’t until spring
that year when my sister finally opened her own bundle of cups and saucers. As we poured hot tea into two of the precious
bestowals, I noticed my sister’s voice becoming thick and soft with emotion. “Nana
said she saved her favorites for me”. Or so I thought I heard her whisper…
8 Comments
Donna Macdonald
Yes, Erina…I still have the cups and I still use them sometimes. Thank you for your faithful reading!
Erina
Lovely memory! Do you still have any of the cups? I have a feeling that you do 😉 The surprise ending, such nice timing, reminded me somehow of O. Henry.
Debra Rodgers
I just wanted to tell you that you tweaked a memory for me. I often had tea alone with her when I lived in Boston too. Her own favorite cup had red strawberries painted on it. They were all connected with a winding delicate vine. When she finished her last sip of tea from that cup she assumed a look of amusement and surprise, turned the inside of her cup towards me and asked, "now Debra, who do you suppose plopped a strawberry in my tea?" I always played along with the ruse by feigning my own look of surprise when I spotted the tiniest painted strawberry at the bottom of her cup.
Donna Macdonald
She loved whimsical little things!
Karen
This lovely tale reminds me of my Aunt Dorothy's gift…she sent me ONE teacup on the event of my marriage. I never figured out why, but she did give me one that I'd admired at her own tea parties when I was a wee girl at her house, during summer visits. Why one? I like to think that she, a "spinster/old maid" knew the importance of a woman, married or single, having a teacup of her very own, for those solitary, ruminating sorts of rainy afternoons.
Donna Macdonald
I LOVE that Karen!
Donna
lovely post…lovely keepsakes…
auntp
A lovely post….thanks!
Paula