On a Day Like Today

The weather app on my iphone has been these sending alerts on the hour every hour:

"flood warning this area until 2:00 am."

And, indeed there is a lot of rain; has been since around 7am.

There are a plenty of brilliant things to do on such a wet, cold, and gloomy day. My mind first turns to making a pot of tea, and some chocolate digestives biscuits on a small plate; just within easy reach as I curl my legs up under the bedclothes and read my book.

But from digestive biscuits my brain makes the logical leap to food that is warm and spongy, sweet, with a little bit of creaminess from custard poured on top. Thus do I find myself wishing, not for the first time, for a team room in the area. People will point out that there are plenty of places in the area that serve tea, and they're correct, but none of them, absolutely none of them are what I'm thinking of for a day like today.

I'm thinking wood paneling, warped glass in the window, blue china tea cups mismatched with their saucers. I can almost hear the scrap of wooden chair legs on the wooden floor, and the soft tinkle of teaspoons clinking against the cup when I stir in my sugar (which, I want to point out, is very  against afternoon tea etiquette).

The three-tiered serving dish gets set down on the the table cloth, no longer pristine white after many years and many cups of tea spilled, with a satisfying thud, and I, and my tea companions eye it with anticipation. I know there's a method to it: savory sandwiches first, working up to the sugary square of cake at the very top. But that petit four looks so pretty, and so tempting, and it would be a shame to fill up on sandwiches, and scones with clotted cream and jam first, ruining any appetite for that dainty morsel. 

On a day like today, there'd be a dampness to such a place, both from wet umbrellas, wet boots, and wet jackets. But also from the steam of the tea pot, and from the kettles that are perpetually kept hot, to refresh the pot. And this dampness gets carried inside a body, slurped from that blue cup and quickly warming all the way from the palm of the hand cupped around the porcelain to savor the heat, rushing down the throat, and curling in my belly. I'm held at just the right balance of soothed, but still awake in this cozy den, watching others walk by holding umbrellas and rain drops dripping from the awning. Here, we're warm, and well fed. Our damp hems are drying as we gossip, or talk about whether it's worth it to go on someplace else; a gallery, or movie maybe.

The only thing being accomplished is enjoying each other's company, and unexpectedly enjoying the weather. When I get home from such a place, on such a day, I won't accomplish much else. But I'll have felt like my day was full, and be content in that feeling.