For me, one of life’s greatest pleasures is the first sip of the first cup of tea of the day. I’ll even go so far as to admit that some days, just the anticipation of that rare and precious moment is itself the motivation I need to get out of bed.

I’m a writer. At least that’s what I tell myself when I can’t think of anything to write. When I do write, it’s frequently over a cup of tea. Kalami Assam is my current favorite. I buy it at my local Indian foods store in a one-pound box. Whole leaf, of course. I brew it strong, in memory of my grandmother, Nana, who claimed that a proper cup of tea should be strong enough “that a wee little mousie might trot across the top.”

And I brew it strongly enough that on those days when I add a dash of tea Masala spice blend, the tea is still the predominant flavor.

I will confess that were I a religious woman, tea would be my sacrament, my eucharist, if you will. The blood of the camilla sinensis plant.

Tea is my inspiration. My half-full cup sits next to me cooling as I write this. I had nothing to write until I began drinking this morning’s cup. That was the impetus behind this post. Without that oh-so-precious first taste, I would have had nothing to say. But one sip was all it took to get the words flowing.

Yes, I’m a writer, but not without my tea!

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