This morning I heated water in the kettle for tea. As I waited, I read through emails and looked out the window on this gray, fall day, remembering silver tea. I was little. My grandmother made silver tea just for me after family meals at her farmhouse: hot water, splash of milk, sugar. A special treat and one that we never re-created at home. The adults drank coffee and retired to that far away grown-up place where conversation floats above you. But I had silver tea.
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