A Cup Of Christmas Tea~

dec. 9

over 30 years i have had this story read

on christmas eve by a family member

years and years went by

me as a small child

restless for him to finish

so we could get to unwrapping gifts

years passed and i grew

and soon i began to tune in

to the words that had be spoken

the words that were written upon each page

a tradition it has been

a tradition it will always be

my littles now the same

restless

not quite understanding

but i know

one day

one day

they will hear

and feel these words

just as i have

so if you have a moment

please grab a cup of tea

and sit here with me

The log was in the fireplace,

all spiced and set to burn.

At last the yearly Christmas race

was in the clubhouse turn.

The cards were in the mail,

all the gifts beneath the tree.

And 30 days reprieve till VISA

could catch up with me.

Though 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.

It read: Of course I'll understand

completely if you can't,

But if you find you have some time

how wonderful if we

Could have a little chat and share

a cup of Christmas tea.

She'd had a mild stroke that year

which crippled her left side.

Though house bound now,

my folks had said

it hadn't hurt her pride.

They said: She'd love to see you.

What a nice thing it would be

For you to go and maybe have

a cup of Christmas tea.

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 as vigorous,

as funny and as bright.

I remembered Christmas Eves when

she regaled us half the night.

I didn't want to risk all that.

I didn't want the pain.

I didn't need to be depressed.

I didn't need 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,

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 and 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 the car pulled up and stopped

Beside the wooden house

that held the Christmas cup.

How I got up to her door

I really couldn't tell...

I watched my hand rise up and 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 a crutch came down the hall.

The clicking of the door latch

and the sliding of the bolt,

And a little swollen struggle

popped it open with a jolt.

She stood there pale and tiny,

looking fragile as an egg.

I forced myself from staring

at the brace that 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 laughed the words.

She 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

Before my eyes and ears and nose

was Christmas past, alive, intact!

The scent of candied oranges,

of cinnamon and pine,

The antique wooden soldiers

in their military line,

The porcelain Nativity

I'd always loved so much,
The Dresden and the crystal

I'd been told I mustn't touch.

My spirit fairly bolted

like a child out of class

And danced among the ornaments

of calico and glass.

Like magic I was six again,

deep in a Christmas spell.

Steeped in the million memories

That the boy inside knew well.

And here among old Christmas cards

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 flow.

I started making sense.

I lost the phony breeziness

I use when I get tense.

She was still passionately interested

in everything I did.

She was positive. Encouraging.

Like when I was a kid.

Simple generalities

still sent her into fits.
She demanded the specifics.

The particulars. The bits.

We talked about the limitations

that she'd had to face.

She spoke with utter candor

and with humor and good grace.

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.

And the candles and the holly

she'd arranged on every shelf,

The impossibly good cookies

she still somehow baked herself.

But these rich and tactile memories

became quite pale and thin,

When measured by the Christmas

my great Aunt kept deep within.

Her body halved and nearly spent,

but 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 poured two cups. She smiled and then she handed one to me.

And then we settled back and had

a cup of Christmas tea.

may you take time this holiday season

 sit and enjoy your cup of tea

with someone you love