Brewing Memories In A Teapot

By: vennasa lee

She was right, of course. Tea does taste better in fine china.

It doesn't matter whether it's Lipton's, Celestial Seasonings, or Bewley's straight from Dublin, it's the china that transforms a good cup of tea into a great one. So, when the day is gray and my mood is even grayer, I break out the Belleek china.

I trace the raised shamrocks on the pot with my index finger and the memories gently drift back to me. Gifts, they are. Steeping in the pot, the tea becomes stronger and more flavorful just as my memories have become richer, more savory with the passage of time.

This teapot belonged to my mother. The last time that she and I shared tea from it was four years ago, when she was terminally ill. Her weight had plummeted, she ate next to nothing, and she had given up all hope of surviving her cancer.

I was preparing breakfast for the two of us one morning at her home. This was not a place that I would naturally call home; it was the house that my mother moved into two years after my father died. It was her home. I was a guest.

For some unknown reason, I found myself setting her dining room table with the Belleek teacups, plates and teapot. By comparison, the paper napkins appeared tacky so I brought out the fine Irish linen.

Then the flatware looked awkward, so silver took its place. Before long the whole table had been upgraded to include a single pink rose in a crystal vase, butter balls and cinnamon toast cut into little triangles. I should also mention the sugar tongs -- a necessity, given the ambiance.

When my mother appeared on the scene, she gasped at the sight, then started in on me.

"Why did you fuss? This is ridiculous! All that china has to be hand-washed, and the crystal vase will need to soak in ammonia, and the tablecloth and napkins will have to be cleaned, starched and ironed! The silver . . . oh, why bother!" she exclaimed, swatting her walker for emphasis. "Why bother!" had become my mother's mantra around that time.

"Well, I took the china down and then one thing led to another, and, well, here you go," I surrendered, as I held out a chair for her.
"You really need to learn how to simplify, Erin. I've been telling you that for years. A lot of fussing is just a waste of time!" she went on.
"I'm glad you like it," I said.

We sat in silence for a minute or two, sipping. I was waiting for her line like you wait for that first glimpse of your house when you return after a two-week vacation. She didn't disappoint me: "Tea always tastes better in fine china!" she finally announced with authority.

Order had been restored.

We went on to rehash so many old stories that morning as we sipped our tea in our "fussed over" surroundings. Our trip to Europe in the summer of '83, the time my sister locked me in the clothes dryer and proudly reported it to Mom, those pitiful cookies we entered in the Girl Scout baking contest. We laughed, shook our heads in amazement, and poured more tea. Then we laughed some more.

What we didn't talk about that day was the future, because the future looked dismal and felt wicked, it even smelled foul. It was unfamiliar and we were holding on to the familiar that day, with both hands and all of our combined strength.

Shortly before she died, my mother asked that I give her Belleek tea things to my daughter when she grows up. I will gladly pass on the china, the memories, the traditions and the advice: "Tea always tastes better in fine china."

My daughter waltzes in while I am still fingering the teapot, knowing every shamrock on it as well as I know each freckle on my right arm. "Sit down, have some tea," I offer. "Tea always tastes better in fine china."

"You always say that, Mom," she laments, as she reaches with both hands for two cinnamon toast triangles.

She, of course, has no inkling that the tea things will belong to her one day, and that it will be up to her to pass on the family stories, and that one day she will be wrinkled and wise and know when it's okay to say, "Why bother!"

I hope and pray that there will be someone in her life who will.

Article Source: https://www.collectibles-articles.com

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