Made a huge pot this morning—needed something with a punch (on the label and otherwise) after a hard, hard Saturday. Left to himself in the fridge to chill, Thomas is, I believe, even a bit stouter than freshly brewed.

This afternoon I’m raising my mason jar in memory of a dear friend who loved tea, loved kids, loved to write, and loved her God. Jill, save me a place on your front porch in Heaven … we’ll have another cuppa together yet.

Angrboda

Somewhat belated, but still. My condolences for your loss.

gmathis

Thank you. She loved practical jokes, and ironically, a week after her passing, I received an e-mail from her inbox. Spam. I can just see her laughing maniacally and slapping Gabriel on the shoulder watching me try to figure that one out.

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Angrboda

Somewhat belated, but still. My condolences for your loss.

gmathis

Thank you. She loved practical jokes, and ironically, a week after her passing, I received an e-mail from her inbox. Spam. I can just see her laughing maniacally and slapping Gabriel on the shoulder watching me try to figure that one out.

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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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