My mother naturally selected Pinky. I stood there in this familiar kitchen, frozen by the magnitude of it all. I wanted that jet-black cup with the startling juxtaposition of its bright floral interior, but it felt wrong to covet what I considered to be the prize of Tenny's entire collection. She seemed to fathom my reluctance and softened the process by saying, "How about leaving your cups here for a while so we can still enjoy them together, but you'll still know they are yours to keep."
That sounded a lot better to my ears. Without intending to, my gaze must have drifted to that extraordinary cup, because she assured me, "I mean it. Whatever one you want will make me happy knowing it will have a good home and be appreciated." Wordlessly, I pointed to the black cup.
It was only a couple of months after that when Tenny announced it was time to take our treasures home. I was used to thinking about it as my cup and saucer now and ready to take ownership.
That nostalgic cup has become very symbolic to me. It represents a coming of age and personal growth. I witnessed friendship and life while sitting across the table from my elders. The passage of time was marked as people we knew married, had children, worked, retired, and died. And quite literally, I learned to be a little braver, to try something different until I discovered what I loved most. I realized things are not always what they seem, not only when it comes to black teacups, but with people and life. When I look at that cup it still reminds me to push myself beyond my comfort zone and try a new experience once in a while. I also keep in mind that not every undertaking has to be a success, and there are silver linings within every struggle and endeavor.
After my mother passed away, Pinky came home to join my cup. They belong together. I suppose they would be considered antiques now; some days I admit to feeling the same way.
I never have developed a taste for coffee, although I love the aroma. Instead, I stock many varieties of tea. Although my tastes incline mostly to black, robust flavors and some herbals, a few green teas make their way into my stash for the sake of old times.
I usually drink my tea from a sturdy mug these days (like the ones my friend Tracy just gifted to me), rather than delicate china cups and saucers. While Tracy's mugs are coincidentally black as a crow's feathers, they do not have delicate, pretty decorations hidden inside. That seems totally appropriate to where I am in my life today, because I've learned to see whatever my imagination conjures up as I hug my fingers around the emanating warmth of freshly brewed tea. Regardless of the blend of tea or the style of consumption, having a good friend over for a 'tepee' is priceless.
©2015 Roberta McReynolds for SeniorWomen.com
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