This was just one of those weeks when you come home from work so raw and weary anything that requires conscious thought becomes painful. Including having to think about what to drink. So I am grateful that my stash is still full of old comfies like this one.

Used my last little flash of remaining braincells (no more spark than a 4th of July popper) to get slightly creative with a dash of cinnamon and some milk. Perfect. Just added to the comfy.

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Somebody asked me once when I became a tea junkie; I think it dates back to college when I needed caffeine for a 7 a.m. class but chose not to do coffee. My favorite teapot is a medium-sized Brown Betty given to me by my Mema; the painted flowers are chipping off, but the size and feel is perfect. I rejoice when I get a morning to brew a pot of loose tea starting with a kettle; not a bag and a hot pot.

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Southwest Missouri

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