Hollyworld: Memories

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

Memories—The Teapot

Hall Teapot

In my last post here, I talked about teapots. That led to a lively discussion on Facebook about teapots vs. cups. (I prefer making my tea in a teapot, but have been known to brew just a cup.) A friend mentioned her grandmother's teapot and it made me think of my grandmother's teapot, which is lovingly referred to as the ugly yellow teapot.

Every time I look at that Aladdin-esque teapot I think of my grandmother. Growing up, we spent most weekends with her. She was a Rosie Riveter. She went to work when my grandfather went off to war and she worked the rest of her life. I talked about finding her biological mother two blog posts ago, so she's truly been on my mind a lot lately.

Now, back to her teapot. She used that ugly yellow teapot every Sunday for dinner. And even as a young child, she'd let me have a cup of tea from it. I remember feeling so grownup as I drank my liberally-laced-with-milk tea. My own minions will frequently ask for cafe au lait, which to them means a splash of coffee in their glass of milk. I suspect they feel that same surge of grownup-ness.

Fast forward— When I was a young mother, we lived upstairs flat over my grandmother's. She'd asked me what I wanted of hers when she died. I immediately answered, the ugly yellow teapot.

Fast foward— One day not long after that discussion, I was upstairs with a toddler and a baby when I heard this horrible scream from my grandmother's apartment. I scooped up the kids, ran downstairs and there she was in the kitchen, sobbing over the pieces of the teapot. She got it out to give me and broke it. After decades of Sunday dinners, it was in pieces and she was heartbroken, despite my assurances that the memory of her generosity was enough.

Fast forward— Himself (my husband's title on social media) and I went to a pre-opening antique sale my parents were a part of. (They were selling Griswold at that time.) We got in before the public. And what did I spy on a shelf? The teapot. The ugly yellow teapot. Now let's be clear, my husband was in college and we had two kids. Money was beyond tight. The dealer's price was pretty much the grand total in our checking account. But Himself insisted I buy the teapot.

My grandmother cried when I showed it to her. And then laughed when I informed her I'd spent our grocery money on it and she probably should invite us to Sunday dinner. She did and the teapot sat where it's predecessor had alway sat. She poured tea from it, just as she always had. I have no idea what she made for dinner, I just remember the teapot. After dinner, it was carefully washed and I took it home.

Since then, it's always been on display at my house. Whenever I look at that teapot, I think of my grandmother. She was not an easy woman, but she adored us kids. Whenever I think of those weekends at her house, I remember watching Lawrence Welk, Poptarts and poached eggs for breakfasts and...that teapot. I don't use it often—my teapot workhorse is a big Brown Betty—but I look at it often and always think of my grandmother when I do.

Retelling my grandmother and the teapot story sort of ties together my last two blog posts. I love it when life has that kind of symmetry. LOL

Holly