“I’m a little teapot short and stout.
Here is my handle here is my spout!”
I’ve been singing that song since I was a child and then years later along with generations of my splendid boys and I know you have as well in your worlds, too. So this morning, along with my gratitude for simply greeting a new day and focusing on what really matters—like seeing and breathing!—I found myself zero-ing in on the little chirp and steam-stream of my fat and ever-present kettle.
Standing in front of it as it beckoned me to pick up and pour I couldn’t help thinking of how much we’ve tea-ed and coffee-ed together. Like a long marriage, we’ve been there through the sicknesses and health, the highs and lows, tears and laughter, celebrations and devastations, endings and beginnings. Moves after moves downsizing from big, sprawling house to a nub of bump-your-head-on-ceiling studios. Like a wandering gypsy I wrapped my old faithful kettle into newspapers and boxes making sure that it was a priority wherever I landed.
So today I silently thanked it for never letting me down. For being one of the predictables I could trust in this strange place called Life. Both kettle and I are admittedly a tad ragged around the edges with hints of rust beneath the gleam. My dark hair now silver. Its silvery sheen not so much anymore. But like the song says, “We’re still here!”
And, as I propped my feet up next to Boo Cat in the Platter, and Peach beside me, I took in this new day with coffee steaming and felt a warm smile grow inside for what really matters right now.
It was all I could to do to not just hug my little teapot short and stout (of course, after it cooled down!)
