When I first moved to England, my husband made the tea. Proper Yorkshire Tea. No sugar. Just a splash of milk. There is an art to making the perfect cup of tea, and it’s some blend of science and magic that leads to the desired result. My husband’s tea was strong, but not bitter. Almost nutty and creamy. It was like a warm and comforting hug.
My first attempts to make him a cup of tea failed. At first, too milky. Then, not milky enough. Steeping also proved difficult. Some days, it would be weak and thin, regardless of leaving the tea bag in for five minutes. Other days, even one minute would be too long, leaving me with floating bits of god-knows-what along the top and a disappointed look from my husband.
But I’ve persisted and after five years have almost nailed it. It’s high praise indeed when he takes a sip, nods and says, ‘That’s a good cuppa’.
I’m now the one who makes us our morning tea. As the early bird of the family, I enjoy slipping out of bed before the house wakes, pulling on my robe and going into the quiet kitchen. I rinse out the kettle and fill it with fresh filtered water. As I wait for the water to boil, I love to look out the window at the garden. When the sun is cooperating, the lush, green trees are at their best and the sky brightens overhead. But more often than not, I’m peering out at the rain-soaked trunks and clouds in varying shades of grey.
I carry the tea through to the bedroom and set the cups down on the bedside tables before slipping back under the warm duvet and wrapping my arm around my husband to wake him up. On the days I tarry in the kitchen, I’ll get a series of text messages from him. A cup of tea. A thumbs up. A big kiss. A smiley face with a halo. I may have created a monster.
What started as a joke became a habit and has now transformed into a ritual. I fuss at him that I’m always the one who makes the tea now, but I wouldn’t relinquish the role for anything. Because I know that what makes a perfect cup of tea is much more than the milk-to-tea ratio and the precisely timed steeping.
It’s the love behind the action that makes all the difference.
Tomorrow and the Day After 