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Oolongs get overlooked at my house a lot; chiefly because in my lopsided and ragged classification system, it rates as an afternoon tea and there aren’t a lot of spare tea-drinkin’ afternoons around here.

Couldn’t quite place what I was tasting until I read the tea description. Nutmeg and orange peel. Yep. Exactly. This appears to have multiple personalities based on the water temp—I went hotter and longer which resulted in the spicy vibe. Enough left in the little sample packet to try one slower and lower to see if I can hunt down the malt sugar.

As my mom’s condition declines more and more steeply, my dad is wisely starting to downsize and he’s asked my sister and me to begin sorting and saving what’s worthwhile from Mom’s sewing room, where she spent decades stitching quilts for friends and family and scores of little shirts and dresses that were packed in mission boxes for Honduran children who may have kids of their own by now. As I drink this tea, I’m pawing through a fruitcake tin of orphan buttons and a stack of paper needle packets from the 1950’s thinking how nice it would be to hear the whir of the sewing machine and the little metallic snip of her scissors.