Ode (sort of) to Tea

Also, tea? 

My favorite food-related item in the whole world.  Above red wine and chocolate and fresh basil and chèvre, all of which I adore and will do shameless things to obtain.  And as they are commonly available items, this does not say much about me.

But tea?

Without The Tea, my day is incomplete, doomed, in which I wander around mumbling “Wha…?” because I can no longer understand language and this parallel non-tea universe that I am in is not pretty.  It is dark and cold and devoid of meaning.

Please don’t make me go there.

I also love teapots because they are the source of tea and therefore make me happy.  I do not fancy myself a collector of things because I don’t like having unused stuff around.  Purge mode began shortly before the divorce several years ago, and has since become a way of life.  But I do have a soft spot for teapots.  Not the whimsical ones that are shaped like country cottages or elephants or Spongebob Squarepants or whatever.  And nothing overly floral or frilly, either.  Small is good—the two to four cup size is best as it is usually just me and sometimes Mom partaking.  I’d totally do tea parties if I had cool friends or teddy bears, but oh well.

So here are my babies:

 

Denby, which my ex-husband got for me when he went to England and I didn’t.  Had he not brought me back an honest-to-goodness English teapot from England, we would have been divorced much earlier.

Royal Winton which I got at the flea market and am afraid to use because it emits a strange odor when I put the water in, no matter how many times I use it.

 

Japanese, from a pottery shop in Kyoto, which I use for green tea only.

 

Lil’ Blue, an earthenware Chatsford which was a closeout buy from one of my favorite tea companies.  The lid doesn’t fit quite right but I don’t care because she is a bright, zingy, happy blue. (You can see my reflection in Lil' Blue's belly, but don't look because I'm not wearing a bra.)

 

And finally,

 

Hall, my everyday 1 and 1 ½ cup teapots.

 

So here I am, bumming in mismatched sweats, unshowered (yet) and drinking from a wedding china teacup.  Wedding china from the first marriage.  And its here and I adore it and I’m not going to not use it, I don’t care about my track record with breaking (several) pieces of my grandmother’s Blue Willow.  I say, enjoy it!  To pieces, even. 

 

Abby bides her time, waiting for a bite of muffin.