A Cup of Christmas Tea

Hello Cadre. How are you today? 11th December? So my name is Speak Wonder, I'm also called Kathy and I love to come on here on Thursdays, caregiver day and chat with you, share my thoughts and feelings about all things caregiving, all things harbors. My branding if you will, or my go to word picture is that of harbors and boats and all of us coming in from the harbor to find safe steerage through the harbor and then to drop anchor and rest and sit a while together. Just like boats bobbing by the docks in the harbor.

Boats of all sizes carrying all kinds of cargoes, having all kinds of destinations but resting for a while in the convivial company of one another. Harbor pilots are those who sidle up alongside us and encourage us and, and help us to know what lay ahead in other waters we're navigating. Just one of the. One of the many things I love about Cadre is the wealth of knowledge that is at the touch of a button by coming in to the conversations that are had all day long every day. Hi Shannon. Good morning.

Hi Rick. Good morning Steph. Erwin is here. Yes. Oh please. I've cued the instrumental Christmas music and my very opinionated 22 pound corgi named Gracie has decided to sound the alarm because oh, you know, a bird flew by the window or something you know, of great consequence. Thank you for chiming in. It's so good to see you everybody and thanks for saying hello to one another. That's what we're doing as we sail into harbor together, isn't it? I'm going to have you rate your week in terms of meaningful connections.

This isn't homework and this isn't something to really think about real hard. But from a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the highest and the most and the bestest and the the most desired one being the least desired. When someone shivering in the cold, a fellow human being for a little the second item I love to do is to hold a baby. To hold an infant. Now I'm not some crazy person who goes and accost somebody in the Costco or the Sam's Club or the grocery store and you know, insists that I hold their infant because typically when you're out and about you'll see a child and.

I have grands none of them are infants right now so that's a little trickier. But you know, the opportunity will often afford itself. I don't always know going into the holidays how I'm going to have that come about, but I love to hold a small child, a newborn, especially the holidays, because it makes me wonder what Mary might have thought as she held her newborn baby. And it kind of brings the Nativity into real time with real flesh and blood. I haven't held the infant yet and I haven't gone to the bell ringer yet.

Two intentions. And the third one, Andy Joyful, you know, this one is to recite A Cup of Christmas Tea, which is a story that has long been launched in my heart for many years. I have a signed copy of the book. You guys. This is Warren Hansen, the illustrator, and Thomas Haig. Both of them signed this book, cup of Christmas Tea. I acquired this in. Yeah, this is gonna give away my age. It would have been in the late eight. I was doing radio in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, had an afternoon show, and one of the guys interviewed Tom Haag.

I didn't even know it. He got to interview the author of this book and he received a signed copy and he handed it to me, knowing that I would treasure such a thing. And I do, and I have. And the illustrat illustrations are very beautiful. They're very simple. Very simple watercolor illustrations. And I have memorized the story. Years ago, when I lived in another town. In fact, my husband was still living at that time. I was preparing this story that I'm about to recite for you for a women's group.

Often I'll have an opportunity to say this in front of a group today and. And this season it's in front of my Cadre peeps. And I'm honored. I was practicing it to make sure I had it memorized. My then teenage daughter was writing in the front seat while I drove and was reciting this. And I started to wait. I started to cry. And I don't remember the whole conversation, but it surprised her. And she said, why are you crying? You know this story so well, and I didn't really know. It's a mystery what jiggles out the emotions in us.

But upon reflection, I'm pretty sure it's because a story that is lodged in our heart will travel with us through many seasons. Seasons of grief, seasons of joy. Times of walking away from our past because it no longer looks the same. Times of saying goodbye to a dear loved one. These seasons will reframe a story that we know well and give it different meaning. For instance, my niece, who's now in her 40s, loves the gift of the Magi by O. Henry. And she recites that she usually reads it out of the book at every holiday gathering.

Every Christmas time and she often will cry because it hits her differently. And I think when we carry tender stories and soft welcoming hearts we do experience deep, deep emotions. The log was in the fireplace, all spiced and set to burn at last. The yearly Christmas race was in the clubhouse turn. All the cards were in the mail, all the gifts beneath the tree and 30 days reprieve till Visa could catch up with me and those smug satisfaction seemed the order of the day. Something still was nagging me and would not go away.

A week before I got a letter from my old great aunt. She wrote, of course I'll understand completely if you can't. What if you find you have the time? How wonderful if we could sit and have a chat and share a cup of Christmas tea. She had a mild stroke that year which crippled her left side. Though housebound now, my folks had said it hadn't hurt her pride. They said she would love to see you. What a nice thing it would be for you to go and have a chat and have a cup of Christmas tea. Ah, but boy I didn't want to go.

Oh, what a bitter pill to see an old relation and how far she'd gone downhill. I remembered her is funny as vigorous and bright. I remembered Christmas Eve when she regaled us half the night. I didn't want to risk all that. I didn't need the pain, I didn't need to feel depressed. I didn't want the strain. And what about my brother? Why not him? She's his aunt too. I thought I had it justified. But then before I knew, all the reasons not to go I so painstakingly had built were cracking wide and crumbling in an acid rain of guilt.

I put on boots, gloves and cap, shame stinging every pore, and armed with squeegee, sand and map, I went out my front door. I drove in from the suburbs to the older part of town. The pastels of the newer homes gave way to gray and brown. I had that disembodied feeling as my car pulled up and stopped beside the little house that held the Christmas cup. How I got up to her door I really couldn't tell. I watched my hand raise up to press the button of the bell. I waited, aided by my nervous rocking to and fro, and just as I was thinking I should turn around and go, I heard the rattle of the china in the hutch against the wall, the triple beat of two feet, and our crutch came down the hall.

Sliding of the latch, popping of the bolt and a little swollen struggle popped it open With a jo. And she stood there, pale and tiny, looking fragile as an egg. I forced myself from staring at the brace which held her leg, and though her thick bifocals seemed to crack and spread, her eyes, their milky and refracted depths lit up with young surprise. Come in, come in. She left the words and took me by the hand, and all my fears dissolved away as if by her command we went inside. And then, before I knew how to react, there before my eyes and ears and nose, was Christmas past a lot 5 intact.

The scent of candied oranges, of cinnamon and pine, the antique wooden soldiers in their military line, the Dresden and the china I've been told I mustn't touch, and the porcelain nativity I had always loved so much, Like magic. I was six again, deep in her Christmas spell, steeped in the million memories the child inside knew well. My spirit fairly bolted like a like a kid out of class and danced among the ornaments of calico and glass. And there among old Christmas car so lovingly displayed, a special place of honor for the ones we kids had made.

And there beside her rocking chair, the center of it all, my great aunt stood and said how nice it was I'd come to call. I sat and rattled on about the weather and the flu. She listened very patiently, then smiled and said, what's new? Thoughts and words began to form. I started making sense, and I lost that phony breeziness I use when I get 10. She was still passionately interested in everything I did. She was positive, encouraging, like when I was a kid. Simple generality still sent her into fits.

She demanded the specifics, the particulars, the bits we talked about, the limitations that she had to face. She spoke with utter candor and good humor and with grace. And then, defying the reality of crutch and straightened knee, on wings of hospitality, she flew to brew the tea. I sat alone with feelings that I hadn't felt in years. I looked around at Christmas through a thick hot blur of tears. The candles and the holly she'd arranged on every shelf, those impossibly good cookies she still somehow baked herself.

And yet those rich and tactile memories became quite pale and thin when measured with the Christmas my great aunt kept deep within her body, halved and nearly spent. Yet my great aunt was whole. I saw a Christmas miracle, the triumph of a soul, the triple beat of two feet and a crutch came down the hall, the rattle of the china in the hutch against the wall. She smiled and poured two cups, and then she handed one to me. And then we settled back and had a cup of Christmas tea. Alexa, stop. I hope the music wasn't too loud for my recitation.

Again. That's Tom Haag. There's a whole story about how he got that published. The story based on real circumstances. His great aunt, Warren Hansen, the illustrator, a book that I was able to acquire back in the 80s. And the story became so meaningful to me that when I was doing radio out west in Denver, Colorado, my morning co host said, you should memorize that it'll become yours and you'll deliver it from your heart. And I, I did. I memorized it and I got to read it again. Got to recite it again this year.

Thank you. Thank you for being my audience for a cup of Christmas teach. Coming up, Anila Leading With Love will be on at 1 o' clock Eastern. It seems like in the recent past she's always come on the air on the code sphere around 9pm Eastern, but she has changed her time. So if you've not been familiar with her and not been able to join her at the other time when she used to come in, check her out. Anila Leading with love and at 3 o' clock Eastern is Ms. Shannon Paul, who I have nicknamed my my favorite beautiful onion because life is like an onion.

You peel off the layers and sometimes you weep. That's kind of beautiful. She does comedy through the chaos and just always good content provided. Sometimes content providers in the Cadre will just pop in and sometimes it's a scheduled live stream. Most times it is. Sometimes it just pops in. We can get that sometimes as well. It's nice to have spontaneity and it's also great to have a sense of anticipation as we think about what we're going to learn from another contributor and another friend. That's what I have today and I look forward to being with you next week.

At the same time tonight, Lord willing and the creek don't rise, I'm going to go see my mama because it's family night at her nursing home and we're going to have a special band band called Harry and the Hooligans. Tells you a lot about the band. If Hooligan is in the name, you know it's going to be good. And they are good. I've seen them perform. We are having really iffy weather. We're having snow, sleet and rain mixed and that does not make for safe roadways. So I don't know if I'll go. I'm going to see what it's like later in the day.

And in the meantime, I'll be here in the sphere. And I appreciate you being here with me. Harbor pilots again. Next Thursday, I'm going to finish my cup of Christmas tea and I'll be thinking of you.