Coffee or tea

"Coffee or tea?"

I put the cup on the tray and the air attendant poured the tea into the cup.  Not a drop was spilled.

I dunked the cookies into the tea to soften their blow to my rotten teeth.  It was a madeleine moment.  It was tea from a thermal flask, very proletariat, very matter of fact, just like breathing.  You finished your dinner you poured yourself a glassful of tea whose name remained unknown whose quality unquestioned.  It was just tea brewed in a thermal flask.  It wasn't until much later that I found out there were different names to different teas.  During an overnight camping trip, two of my friends were sophisticated and urbane beyond my imagination.  They brewed tea at night.  Not just any nameless tea in a dreary thermal flask but tea that has a name, an English name no less.  The Lipton tea, in its gauze little bags of glory, ever so sophisticated, together with milk and sugar, soothingly and warmly transitioned me from a child to a bona fide young adult that night.

"Coffee or tea?"

I put the cup on the tray and he deftly poured coffee into the cup.  He was a professional.  I skipped the granular sugar and just added the single serving milk to complete the beverage.  Sugar is like poison in today's ever quest for healthier diet.  A coffee is a coffee is a coffee so long as it's hot but not scorching hot.  The baby behind me started to cry again.  It didn't bother me, not more so than air travel or people who seemed very bothered by baby crying.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Thank you."

At my age, I only come home for either a good reason or a bad reason.