Oh, Honey, Where have you been?

I have rediscovered my love for tea, but I have also realized that it is not so much the tea itself that I crave. It is something in the ritual. I am a creature of habit and this habit, although lost for some time, has come back with a vengeance, out of nowhere. More than the tea, the smell, the flavor, the comfort or the sound of the spoon stirring and clinking the mug (which is great, by the way); it is the honey.

The ritual is clear; while the water is heating on the stove, in the pot- because we still don’t have a kettle, I gather the supplies, the same mug (because there is only one big enough in this house) and then the goodness starts. From the drawer I rescue a silver spoon (a real silver spoon from some great-grandmother, AJO carved into the handle). Into the spoon, from the glass jar on the counter I pour honey from a distant valley of dry hills and grapevines. I tell myself that honey has medicinal properties and take a bit extra to savor. The spoon rests in the empty mug, add the tea bag and lick the dripping honey from the mouth of the jar and replace it for tomorrow. The water is ready and so tea is made. It is often too hot to deal with so I bring it with me to relish or abandon it. Sometimes, like last night for example that is where the ritual ends. I drank the cold tea when I woke up this morning.