“Just tea for two
And two for tea
Just me for you
And you for me.”
For my thirty-third birthday, I received a cast iron teapot and two porcelain cups and saucers (pictured above) from a dear friend. I, who have not owned many lovely things , nor had much use for anything if it wasn’t practical, was delighted. Can something as simple as drinking tea be lifted above the mundane action of satisfying thirst? Can it even be considered beautiful? It can, and it did. Each morning as my husband made our breakfast, I prepared the tea. Cups on saucers, milk in the cream jar, tea steeping to perfection in the black tea pot. All to the table, plates steaming with spinach, onion and feta omelets. Benedic Domine. Just my husband and I together in the quiet stillness before the world wakes, before our day begins.
Now it is I alone in the kitchen in the early morning hours. I wanted to put the teapot and cups away, to block from sight the reminders of our time together. But I cannot. Despite the sadness, perhaps even because of it, my spirit needs the beauty of the fragile porcelain cup, the strength of the solid teapot, and the hope of sharing them again.