I love the Art of Taking tea. I find it to be a long lost art.
I would love to go back in time and enjoy it the traditional way. Each afternoon, when I have the chance to sit back and relax, I enjoy a pot of good brewed tea. I sit and savor the moment and the delights of the tea with a good book or soft music.
Come and join me, sit a spell, get comfortable and let's be tea friends!
I just love Tea stories. I found this and I hope you will like it too.
Memories of a Childhood Friend
It's been many years now that I've lived in Canada, but I still
subscribe to the newspaper from the small town in England where I grew
up. The news is often weeks old, yet I maintain that link to my youth
and often wax nostalgic.
But, on a cold evening last winter, as I sat and read my paper, I was
saddened to learn that old Mr Maxey had passed away after a long
illness, at the age of 87. For a while, I just stared into my living
room, replaying those memories from so long ago.
In those days Mr Maxey ran a shop, one of those small
everything-in-one shops that you'll find in a country village. Often
my mother would give me a few coins and send me down the street words
such as, "We'll be needing some greens for tonight, best you'd go to
Mr Maxey and get them for us."
But whether it was greens, or flour, or potatoes or milk, mum never
knew how much I enjoyed visiting Mr Maxey. He and I were friends, you
see, of the special variety that bridges the generations. How I loved
his tales of the Great War and of India! Mum would wonder why it took
me so long to run a simple errand, and all I'd say was, "Mr Maxey
wanted to talk." Little did she know how much I wanted to listen.
There was one really special thing, though, that I seldom mentioned,
because mum didn't think little ones should be drinking strong tea.
With a wink and a smile, Mr Maxey, when starting out one of his
stories, would pass me a small cup of tea, with a little milk and
sugar, and I would enjoy this tea while the tale unfolded. What
wonderful, colorful and flavorful tea this was! I would savor every
drop of it, even as I savored every word of the stories. It was like
no other tea I had ever tasted. Mr Maxey once told me that his was a
special blend, developed by his father years ago, Mr Maxey Senior.
Every now and then I would ask Mr Maxey how the tea was made, but he
just smiled and said, "That's our little secret, you know."
Those were wonderful days for me, filled with delights... but all
things end. World War II was on the horizon, and as I grew into my
teens, the world was changing around me. Military service quickly
came, I moved to London after the war, and nothing would ever be quite
the same again. Eventually I married and moved to Canada with my new
Still, from time to time, I thought about Mr Maxey and that wonderful
blend of tea... not too weak, not too strong, just right in every respect.
The passage of the years didn't dim the memory of that special brew,
though I thought I would never taste it again. Then, one day, I got a
catalog in my mail from a new tea-shop called "Tea Trader". And, what
did I see in the catalog but a listing for "Mr Maxey's Own"!
This couldn't be possible, I thought, and yet I lost no time getting
to the car and driving to Bow Valley Square. The owner, Ted Jones,
greeted me there. I told him my story quickly, feeling that surely
he would think I was, at best, foolish....but Ted smiled and said,
"Here, let's try a sample." Ted quickly brewed up a little pot of tea
and handed me a cup, with milk and sugar, of course..... I took a sip
and knew right away that I had rediscovered an old pleasure.
We talked for a while, and it turned out that Ted's father knew Mr
Maxey Senior, and learned the composition of this special blend. Why
Mr Maxey Senior entrusted Mr Jones Senior with this secret is unknown
even to Ted, but now Ted blends the Ceylon, China, and other select
teas that make up this wonderful brew. I left the store with a goodly
supply of Mr Maxey's Own, and have returned often to augment my supply.
So, last winter, saddened as I was to hear of Mr Maxey's passing, I
soon rose from my chair and my bittersweet reverie, and paid him the
best tribute I could think of: I brewed a pot of
Mr Maxey's Own and
drank it in his memory.