She wore stockings and a dress – never pants – and in the summer months a matching hat. Head held high, she made her way to the bus stop and travelled several stops into the city.
When they first started meeting the city was the only place you could find a tea house. Yet even when you could find one on every street corner, they kept travelling to the city because that’s what they did.
She called it morning tea with the ladies; a years old ritual of four women – one of whom was my Nana – where they would sip tea, eat scones and jam, and share friendship. It was a morning of laughter and heart to hearts; where kindreds shared brag books, cake, joy and the occasional pain. Nana looked her best and gave her best, accepting their best in return.
As a child I would laugh at my Nana, sitting on her bench in the hallway, talking to friends for hours. Just talking. Not cooking dinner. Not cleaning. Sitting. Talking on the phone and nothing else. I thought it was gossip. But she was being a friend. True friendship can’t be multitasked.
Today’s post is a tribute to my Nana and the beautiful friend she was. Continue reading with me at (in)courage. You might like to subscribe to their email list (as I do) for encouraging words from the writers of (in)courage.