03/22/2026
Where This Began ...
When I was about 9 or 10, tea meant time with my grandma.
Usually after Monday night choir rehearsal or early Saturday morning before grocery shopping, she would make a simple cup of Lipton tea — nothing fancy, just the little bags that were easy to keep on hand. Toast or a muffin might be nearby, and the apartment would be waking up for the day.
Sometimes the kitchen was full — my mother, aunts, cousins, laughter everywhere, and a weekly Scrabble game that felt very serious to the adults. As the oldest grandchild, I hovered close, pretending to help spell words (and probably cheating by knowing everyone’s letters). I just wanted to belong to that circle.
Other times it was just me and Grandma while she made my grandfather’s breakfast. Small talk, nothing monumental. But she listened — really listened — even when what I said was ordinary. For those few minutes, I had her full attention.
It felt like safety. Like home. Like being important simply because I was there.
Years later, far from home in the military, I realized how much those tea moments had anchored me. Even drinking tea from a dented canteen cup, I was reaching for that feeling of closeness again.
After my grandmother passed, I knew I didn’t just miss her — I missed what those moments created. So, I began building spaces where other women could feel that same warmth: laughter, honesty, encouragement, stories, prayer, reflection, and the comfort of not carrying everything alone.
Nothing elaborate. Just intentional.
Because sometimes what we’re really longing for isn’t tea — it’s to feel hugged, heard, and at home again.
Sip your best and enjoy the brew 🌿
