I don’t know who T.S. Eliot had in mind when he wrote these lines in his poem “Portrait of a Lady” – “And youth is cruel, and has no remorse and smiles at situations which it cannot see. I smile, of course, And go on drinking tea”- but I recognize the stance of smiling over a teacup as conversation trickles around me. I have smiled often over a cup of tea these last few years, sometimes at nothing more than my own meandering, and none too disciplined thoughts.

I indulge in the pleasant rituals of making and drinking tea at least once a week, preferably on a lazy Sunday afternoon. It’s the perfect excuse for lolling around, for pleasant conversation with the cat or agreeable people, and for the peaceful practice of whimsy, of which I believe the world needs more.

A few years ago, instigated by a dear departed friend who had a fondness for drinking tea, I invited, on occasion, friends to tea parties. I required them to wear hats, preferably swathed in tulle and embellished with feathers and silk flowers. White gloves were optional, but if my guests wore floaty dresses, especially on a green-and-blue summer day, then so much the better. If they wanted to come as a favorite literary character – Virginia Woolf, Edna St. Vincent Millay or Sarah Teasdale – I found that most amusing.

The tea party ritual began about an hour before guests arrived, when I baked lemon and-or chocolate scones – to be served with raspberry jelly, butter and whipped cream – using a recipe from my favorite cookbook, Judy Gorman’s “Breads of New England.” I covered the table with a white crocheted lace cloth and laid out white damask napkins and silverware. I brewed tea in a white china teapot decorated with pale lavender violets. If I were in an especially whimsical mood, I used the one shaped like a camel – the spout is the camel’s mouth. I boiled fresh water and measured loose tea (no tea bags allowed) into a tea infuser shaped like a heart. I set out quaintly mismatched tea cups and saucers, painted with forget-me-nots and roses. I served the scones on mismatched china cake plates, with at least one in my favorite Blue Willow pattern.

The tea, called Christmas tea, a special blend I order from the Upton Tea Co. in Hopkinton, Mass., is ‘decorated’ with rose petals, bits of almond, orange peel and spices. Definitely not traditional, but, oh, so tasty and fragrant when steeped about three minutes. I don’t use a tea cozy. If the tea gets cold, I make another pot.

Anna, the seventh Duchess of Bedford, is credited with establishing the English tradition of afternoon tea in the 1840s, when she asked that a tray of tea, bread and cakes be brought to her room at 4 p.m. to stave off hunger until the 9 p.m. dinner hour.

Since I am no duchess with a fashionably late dinner hour, nor ever likely to be, and since the last time my ancestors were truly English was in 1629 when they came to settle in Salem, Mass., tea time is whenever I say it is, and its rituals are entirely mine to invent.

When my guests arrive, I impose only one rule. If you have something to whine about – and don’t we all? – you get five minutes. During that time you will receive empathy and kind words. Then you must move on to another topic, preferably one that will make us smile over our teacups.

“Perhaps it is not too late. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends.” T.S. Eliot may not have intended it to be so, but that line from his poem is very good advice.

To learn more about the Upton Tea Co., call (800) 234-8327, or visit www.uptontea.com. “Breads of New England” is out of print, but may be available at local used bookstores or online.

Snippets

Do you own a shirt you’ve worn and worn but can’t bear to part with even though it has a stain on the front, is missing buttons and has a hole in the elbow? Well, don’t give up on it. Embroider something – a peace symbol, a sunflower, a bird – over the stain. Let the shape of the stain determine the design. Replace the missing buttons with ones that don’t match. And cut out a patch shaped like a heart to mend the elbow with. You’ll be delighted with what you’ve wrought.