Tea and Hurricanes

A Family Weather Report

Photo by Roman Kraft on Unsplash

My mother answered the phone, “Good morning, Jewel Florists! Can I help you?” Every word was held in place with a little smile. Her pen was poised over the order pad, ready to jot down requests for floral creations for possibly the best or possibly the worst of occasions. That was the thing about a flower store—it was a place to get all kinds of news, especially in the late 1980s when flowers were more of a tradition to mark life events.

Mum suddenly jerked the phone away from her ear. “Gale force winds, dahhhlingg!!” Grandma’s very British voice came sailing out of the receiver into the quiet shop. Mum grabbed her nose to try and stifle a giggle. I leaned in toward the phone, grinning so hard I knew my ears were going to hurt. A loud slurping sound preceded the next sentence that boomed out of the phone. “Gale force winds in the strait, dahhhlingg! Up to 75 miles per hour! Could last all day, loveeee!” One more loud slurp did me in. I collapsed onto the counter, thankful no customers were in the store, my laughs silent and painful.

Nearly paralyzed by her efforts to get her face straight enough to talk, Mum struggled to speak. “Hello, mother,” she managed weakly. That was enough. Grandma launched into the real meat of her delivery, offering further news of impending windy disaster and opining about the risks of putting floral bouquets outside the door for the cash-and-carry business and, even worse, trying to deliver flower arrangements in the midst of what was sure to turn into a howling storm. The small family business would be driven into rack and ruin (one of Grandma’s favorite phrases) by the inclement weather. “Damnable bad luck, dahling. Dreadful weather for this time of year! Blasted wind. Sluurrrp.”

Photo by Julian Rösner on Unsplash

The fact that we lived in a city by the ocean that was windy most of the year did not daunt Grandma. She was our human windsock, phone at the ready. Her enthusiasm for the self-appointed job of hurricane oracle increased in the same measure as her early morning shot of brandy. She’d been having trouble getting mobile in the morning so her doctor, a semi-retired, old-school type, had recommended a “finger of brandy in the tea on those slow days.” Perhaps he hadn’t mentioned that the finger should be held across the cup for the medicinal reckoning and perhaps she hadn’t troubled to ask him for specifics, preferring a perpendicular measure. He likely didn’t think to ask how much tea Grandma could put away in a single morning.

Photo by Megan Stallings on Unsplash

Her quaint, historic home was near the ocean and, with its high ceilings, leaky windows and creaky walls, made its own special sounds when the wind grew. She had few friends and fewer still were allowed in the weathered old house. Family, however, were different. Family members were meant to be in the house with her. When it was empty, when we were all busy living our lives, a certain cold crept inside. But the tea warmed her hands and feet and sharpened her senses and cleared her voice for the important job ahead.

Author’s note: This is a story that did not make the final cut for my memoir, Children Born of Wildfire, but it does provide a glimpse into my family’s eccentricities.

To learn more about my book go to angelahoywriter.com