All Over Tea in the Mission

Bunter and I had a couple of guests over for tea this afternoon and introduced them to Millie, the glass-eyed wonder cat, who has been a member of my family since before I was born (She's that lovely creature featured with Junk Thief in the current -- as of this posting -- profile photo).

Although everyone enjoyed the conversation, the black rose and premium Oolong offerings and plates of tiny savories, there was far more comment over our cups, such as the one featured above. I don't know its exact lineage but think it's been in the family at least as long as Millie. Although I've talked earlier today about my garden journals, I realize I've never kept tea journals, which is a shame. Perhaps I should start some retroactively. There have been tea parties under the baby grand at Aunt Louise's house in thimble size cups with all the guests in hand made hats with my famed Cousin Ginger; malaria crazed Touareg tea in Segou, Mali, in the early 1990s; high tea at the Empress with my eternally on-again-off-again ex from Newfoundland; Sunday teas with local exes at Lovejoy's in Noe Valley, the arrondissement next door, where there is often a passionate fraction of a second when our eyes lock and we both (likely) wonder why we parted and then comfortably go back to the tedium babbling about how we occupy our solitary days; and various trips through Hong Kong just to visit the Museum of Tea Ware where I've acquired a number of favorite pots and tiny cups.

But I always come back to the above, favorite cup, which I've often called the tea elf. It's always reminded me of having a tea party on the order of this scene.

As my guests departed, I could not help but think about how thinly fragile yet sturdy much of these tea cups and pots are yet will long outlive all of us and the rivers of tea that will flow forward with us into obscurity.