A later wrapping was due to relocating from a one to a two bed- roomed flat, when our first baby joined our family ranks. The tea cup was still unused – one of the special ones for special occasions. There was no time for special occasion tea parties when life revolved around feeds, sleepless nights and nappy changes.
The tea cup and its set came out of the confines of the cupboard and into functional use in our various homes in KZN – including bastardised Victoriana, a rambling Midlands Meander country thatch, (where we ran a Sunday meander restaurant, with roast lamb cooked with tomato, onion, garlic, rosemary and feta cheese, and Eric Clapton CDs setting the tone ) suburban modernistic, a converted post office in Winterskloof, and an original wattle and daub cladded home with a kitchen burner and ball and claw footed bath.
Mostly interesting spacious homes with
impressive views. Places to drink tea under the African sun. Meaningful moments. Moments that became those years I cried about last night.
Thereafter the teacup went bubble wrapped in a box in an outsized container. It must have sweated in its wrapping in the dark bowels across the ocean, first docking at
We traced the tea cup and all our worldly possessions on the Internet from our empty home in
And last night I wrapped it again -this time to move to a larger home a kilometre away as the NZ duck flies. But why so sad on this momentous journey to yet another characterful home – this one an authentic Kiwi wooden multi-levelled home, where my cup will once more be unwrapped.
I also missed her because the association I have of tea has a motherliness about it. I miss not being that type of mother, because I was always ‘too busy’ being the perennial student and full-on professional career woman. Mothers should find the time to sip tea with anyone old, sad, ill or lonely.
And musing about who can come over and sip tea from the Longchamp cup one fine