She loved tea. So much that I’m pretty sure if you would have pricked her finger, tea would have come out. Every single day there was a half-gallon pitcher of it on the counter. As soon as she was done with her morning coffee, out came the tea bags and into the coffee pot they went. She always made it perfectly- nice and strong with just the right amount of sugar. Yes, it was sweet tea. But, like any good Southerner, Mom just called it tea and so did we. People always wanted a sampling when they came to visit and one glass was never enough. She’d fill a jelly jar with ice cubes and pour the sweet amber over the top. Oh, it smelled so good. And it was best when it was still warm, creating a little cloud of vapor when it was poured over the ice. Nothing tasted better when you were sick than a piece of toast and a glass of Mom’s tea. I think I remember her the most vividly when I think of her walking from room to room, dusting the furniture, singing, talking to the dog. And carrying her tea with her, the ice cubes tinkling against the glass. That sound will always belong to her.