Not my cup of tea
What is it about grasping a warm mug in your hands, steam rising on your face and inhaling the smells of delectability coming from the liquid within that is so wonderful? And yet….. the next level….. of SHARING that moment and that cup of warmness is the catalyst of connection that has transcended age, culture, and time. We start practicing this ritual as toddlers with tea parties and it continues through life. Sooooo grab a “ cuppa,” as my grandfather used to say, of your favorite libation and settle in today as we dive into the importance of sharing a cup and the personal sometimes sensitive topic — YOUR or in this instance MY cup of tea.
**Warning the contents of this post contains information that may be perceived as derogatory towards a demographic of cuppa drinkers and that is not the intention. Moreso, a truthful coming-out and shedding a lifetime of shame associated with a long-held pretension that I can no longer uphold. Here goes……
As a taller-than-most and lanky third grader I’d heard that coffee stunted your growth. My parents both drank the stuff so I though why not? The benefits could be two fold — I could gain maturity beyond my years, hang out early mornings at the table with my dad and slow the uncontrollable growth curve I was taking for a bender. Well….. I liked anything my dad liked and he was much more likely to pour me a cup of coffee than Mom. My early morning risings were motivated by getting up before Mom to share a cup with my dad and to slow this freakish growth spurt. The cards were stacked against me from the beginning for becoming much of a tea drinker. Sure there was iced tea in the summer, but my dad didn’t drink hot tea, so there wasn’t much chance or opportunity for me to drink it either.
Growing up on the ranch, our mornings started with coffee before breakfast, then coffee after morning chores when we’d come in to get warmed up. We often took a thermos of coffee when we were out working and stopping for a cup, meant a break in the work day and a time for a story or a laugh. Neighbors stopped by for a cup of coffee, coffee at every meeting, coffee after church and there was coffee even in the afternoon before supper. Coffee was less about the brown hot liquid that flowed into your cup and down your throat, but more about the act of gathering, a moment when time stood still, a break from the grind (no pun intended) and a time to connect.
In my early twenties I thought it a good idea to branch out on liquids for my cup. I’d finished college and was working in an urban setting and thought something more civilized than coffee might be better suited for me. Soo I set to work experimenting (scientIfically of course) and I sampled a wide palate of libations. By age 25 I had faced the reality etched firmly in my DNA that my first love was for black coffee and now a new love developing for for red wine; and those both became lifelong passions and patterns. Common sense told me that the former of those (coffee) gave way to burning the midnight oil which fit my lifestyle and was much better than excess amounts than the second (red wine). So that's what I chose.
Coffee’s culture became more embedded in my life, as the years rolled by. The most significant coffee ritual of which happened every day for 35 years between the hours of 4:00 and 5:30 am; it’s true! Morning coffee time with Joe was our preparation for the day; we planned and plotted. It was our sacred and cherished time together, sometimes in silence holding our warm cups watching the sun come up, burping colicky babies, and sometimes really hashing out big struggles in our business, family and life. In fact, it’s been rumored that I’m such a coffee person that it shows up in serum levels on bloodwork. I love the smell, the act of gathering for it, the taste, I just LOVE everything about it, and what it's meant to my life and family. Though admittedly. I also have enjoyed an ever- so-small glass of the second love (red wine) every night for many many years as well.
Now for bearing the cup of my soul…and the meat of this post. I’m generally a pretty kind and polite person, but I’ve reached my saturation point on this topic. There are so many tea drinking people in my life that I both love and respect. They are admittedly smarter, definitely more civilized and will live longer healthier lives than mine. However I’ve spent a lifetime trying to cultivate an affection for tea, for its taste, its health and cultural benefits, just to meet the status quo. I’ve tried, oh how I’ve tried…. green, peppermint, ginger, lemon, herbal, hibiscus, organic tea blessed by Hindu monks and just more tea — but it just doesn’t do it for me. I think I had a case of Tea FOMO (fear of missing out) for not drinking tea like all the smart and lovely tea-drinking folks in my life. Well the time has come for my brutal honesty and self evaluation. I believe at my core that tea is a fraud— yep, I’m sorry, but it smells so good, and delicious, and yet when you take a sip, its such a let down and tastes nothing like it smells. Weak sauce, I say!
So the invitation is open to share a cuppa with my tea and coffee drinking friends alike, and my "coming out" about tea doesn't diminish the sanctity of community and connection in gathering to share a cuppa. Just know there’s no pretense about my affection for tea; I DONT LIKE TEA. Feel free to soak that bag of dried leaves suspended in hot water if you like. Just know it isn’t my cup of tea (it's all you) — mine’s that lusciousness called COFFEE.
(Whew that was cheaper than therapy, and coffee didn’t stunt my growth as I topped out at 5’10” at age 13 — or maybe it did?)
