Against the blurred backdrop of December’s lists, errands, duties, and party time stands a single picture in sharp relief. It is the face of my young niece, Tessa Grace Cutie Face (I Love Her To Outer Space), sitting across from me at the table in my kitchen. The china is out, the house is quiet, and we are having tea and toast.
The idea was planted one evening last fall, during a chat about her storybook. The characters in it had feasted on tea and hot buttered toast. Inspired, we turned to one another with the same thought: Wouldn’t it be Terrific if we, Too, should make our own Time for Tea and HoT BuTTered Toast? Hmmmm – food for thought.
Whenever we’d see each other in the weeks that followed, she’d hint, winsomely, “Aunt Beeeeecky…hot buttered tooooooast??” To which I’d reply, “Tessssssa…how about hot buttered tea?” And though we’d agree it should be soon, weeks slid into months as we tried to figure out exactly when we could put that teapot on.
Finally, we just went ahead and did it — shoehorning our date between two morning appointments and an afternoon one during Christmas week, of all things. (What can I say, there was never going to be an ideal time.)
I picked Tessa up at her home. She skipped out to the car, talking all the way. Already I was glad we were making time. When we got to my house, I left all my obligations, responsibilities, options and deadlines at the door. Let them whine and worry. Let them wonder when it would be their turn. In this here and now, it was Tessa’s turn, my turn with Tessa, the tea and toast’s turn.
Inside, with the water boiling, we each chose a special teacup from the collection Jack’s aunt Laura had given him. We filled our cups with steaming tea and placed our toast on good china, buttering slice upon slice most generously. We stirred with real silver spoons, our plates resting on my aunt’s crocheted tablecloth, and then kicked back and relaxed.
What did we talk about? Honestly, I don’t even remember much about that. Stories about where the cups and tablecloth came from, and a few memories of Jack, I do remember that. The rest is lost to me. But it doesn’t matter, because mostly what I recall is a sense of gratitude that we were together. We were together, finally, two people who love each other, and we were connecting. It felt deeply settling.
And I remember wondering to myself, “Why do I put these things off? I’m so glad to be with this nice niece of mine, now that I finally am. Will I ever remember how satisfying it is to be truly, intentionally, present, just as I am this minute? Can I please remember to make time for other people who matter to me?”
The reality is that we can’t do every good thing there is to do. I know that. I’m not trying to load guilt on any of us. But I do want to voice the benefits that come from living in a world where we sit with one another more intentionally, where we temporarily set aside what’s urgent in favor of what’s important.
Eventually our feast had to come to an end, and when it did, we headed once more into the thick of life. As I drove Tessa home, my lists rejoined me with relief ( “Whew! We thought you had forgotten us!”) but I declare to you that I was a different person for that slice of time. I learned something: though it was not urgent that I spend two hours with my niece drinking tea and having hot buttered toast, it was important.
As a new year stretches before us, may we fill our cups often with the ones we hold dear. May we have our fill of hot buttered toast!
