I took my tea out to the front porch this morning. It is cool and shady at that hour of the morning and the bushes hide me from the nosy bint next door. You could see me from the street, but the gent across the way, Eugene-Of-The-Immaculate-Lawn (in a diagonal pattern this morning), can not see me from his windows. I can almost feel safe here.

I have brought a tray out, for a proper tea. A proper tea involves the whole ritual of warming the teapot while heating the water in a different container on the stove, setting up a cream pot and sugar bowl, making a few sandwiches with the crusts cut off (it's bird food and cheap entertainment), and of course a few cookies. It's so hard to get clotted cream for proper scones, so I rarely bother. I put the tea in loose in the teapot and then pour through a strainer when I want to add it to my cup. And of course, one must put in sugar first then cream, and then the tea. I don't need to dirty the spoon then, because the act of pouring does most of the mixing. I find great comfort in this.

I was enjoying my tea and lobbing crusts at the birds when a curious deep voice greeted me, "Good morning, Jeannie."

That voice was familiar.

I looked at the chair next to me, on the other side of the tea tray, and there was Tony himself, smiling at me.

I dropped my teacup, splashing the hot liquid on myself. I jumped up and had to act fast to prevent burns. Luckily the cup did not break. When I looked at the chair again, he was gone.

I had one more cup of tea and enjoyed my treats without noticing them as much. I had a lot to think about now.  ¶ 7:12 PM