The glory of a teapot

I hereby publicly confess to a special affection for teapots. I love that they are all different - in size, shape, colour and pattern. And tea cosies! Oh my, hand-knitted jumpers to keep the tea warm - my vote for best ever invention.

And while teapots (and especially be-cosied teapots) get me all jollied up, there's more to it than just the love one feels for a pretty cool thing. My cockles are especially warmed by what teapots represent. A teapot means taking a break. And tea made in a pot is usually too much for one person. So a teapot is for sitting down, stopping being busy, sharing a cup of delicious aromatic tea, and having a chat. What better thing is there in life than a chat over a teapot?

For me the quiet-time-space begins with a tea-making ritual. Mine goes like this: boil the kettle. Warm the teapot with the boiling water, discard. Add tea leaves. Pour over just-boiling water and steep the tea for three minutes. I'm a milk-in-the-cup-first girl. June Dally-Watkins may have tought me a few things useful in life (and some less useful - another story), but surprisingly didn't touch on whether milk should go in first. I'm fairly sure the Queen would be a milk-in-the-cup-last-girl.

I find tea is especially special if enjoyed from dainty little flowery teacups and saucers. So indulgent, so calming, so CWA.

And I would confidently argue that the taste of pot tea - i.e. leaf tea - is a world away from the taste of tea bag tea and completely worth the little extra effort. I admit to being a little bit of a tea snob, but I wouldn't go so far as to refuse to drink tea bag tea.

One thing I would like to say about tea is that I find it almost undrinkable if made from overboiled urn water - the kind you find in an office where the water boils over and over again, all day long. If you're interested, the scientific explanation of this is that the urn boils all the oxygen out of the water, and tea needs oxygen to infuse.

And this week, so enamoured am I with teapots and their zen-inducing calm space, I have created the hanging garden of teapot on my back deck. Second-hand or chipped teapots have been given a new lease on life, growing lovely herbs and hanging plants. The handles make for easy hanging and the spout allows perfect drainage.

Bring me your broken teapots, your old and unloved or forgotten teapots. I will rejeuvenate them, love them, celebrate them. The glory of a teapot knows no ends. Praise be to the teapot.





The unexpected

I love this little poem / prayer from my ole mate Michael Leunig:

God give us rain when we expect sun.
Give us music when we expect trouble.
Give us tears when we expect breakfast.
Give us dreams when we expect a storm.
Give us a stray dog when we expect congratulations.
God play with us, turn us sideways and around.

Amen

 

Now don't get me wrong, I like sun more than rain (who doesn't?). But sometimes we don't realise how much we need rain; or we just need something different, something we weren't expecting. To me this poem is all about shaking things up a little (or a lot) every now and then. Not always, of course - too much shaking is bound to lead to sea-sickness. But a little bounce around the sink of life can surely be fun. We can plan our lives, set out with expectations about how the day will be, the week, month or year. But it's how we deal with the things we don't plan that really gives us that zing that we're alive.

So whether the surprise is something joyful, or just something you weren't predicting or planning, I say at the very least, just notice it. That's often enough. Or just maybe you might enjoy it.