Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

I found a story in tea cups during book club at my home yesterday.

I was preparing to serve the usual coffee, tea, and water.  Got the mugs out for the Joe; found my pitcher for the water; and then opened my China cabinet. There were two tea sets on the same shelf.

The bottom of a saucer from the first set told me it was made in China. It was white and delicate with flowers on the inside and outside of the teacup and smaller versions smiling from the saucer.  The second set was ivory Haviland, and the patterns were reversed.  The smaller flowers graced the cup while the larger ones danced on the matching saucer.

How these two sets came to be on the same shelf is what struck me for the first time, because the first set belonged to my Father, whom I met at age 48 (My age, not his.), and the second belonged to my Mother.

I inherited the first set when my Father died, and out of the blue I was contacted to remove his final possessions from a locker in California.  I inherited the second set when my Mother died almost twenty years ago.

These two people weren’t really suited for each other and early on went their separate ways. Yet, here are remnants of their lives – as exemplified by tea sets – living comfortably side by side in my cabinet.