Tea has always had a very special place in my life. It's like liquid comfort. It reminds me of the long afternoons of playing Monopoly with my Gran as a child; she called me her little teapot for good reason, I could drink gallons of the stuff. It brings back memories of coming home from hard days at work or school, and my Mom making tea while I vented my frustrations, or discussed things with her. Most recently, it reminds me of saying goodbye to my family when we left France, and my mother insisting that we all sit and have tea together, one last time before I go. This goodbye was hard. We'd had more fun as a family together than I remember ever having, with minimum bickering and lots of laughs and stories. This time, I truly miss them, especially spending time with my sister and getting to know her; I have some catching up to do.
The Nameless Wonder and I are practically permanently drinking tea, and I love our cosy evenings, just sitting watching Doctor Who or some other series, drinking tea with him. Lately, tea has gotten me through long days of depression about my inability to get a job; it makes me feel at home in all the strange places I've been, as well as the now more familiar ones. Tea is safety and security in a cup; tea is home.
