Afternoon tea reminds me of Grandpa Charlie, who often reminisced about his tea in the dense jungles of Korea during wartime. While there, he had met a lovely British couple living in a lovely English cottage, who had served him a very lovely tea, during a whirlwind of great turmoil in his life.

So, when I told Grandpa Charlie that we had tickets to fly to London, he insisted I make a reservation at Harrods for afternoon tea … the most expensive one they served, and it would be a treat from him.

We ordered the champagne tea with unlimited tea sandwiches, which included a live concert on a white grand piano, by a very distinguished fellow wearing a tuxedo. From that moment on, Grandpa Charlie and I shared a love of afternoon tea.

This is the last tea we had together, in the Assisted Living Home before he passed in 2018.

Now, whenever I start a new writing project, especially in springtime, when tiny sprigs of new buds begin to bloom (at least here in California where we’re getting a lot of rain), I think about Grandpa Charlie, who always cheered my writing projects, and shared a pot of tea with me to celebrate.