A few months ago I broke my petite purple teapot. It was a graduation gift from good friends in high school and had been a constant comforter through all of undergrad and grad school even sitting in class during finals filled with tension tamer tea. During our year in England and then California it waited patiently in storage waiting to brim with tea once more. When we settled down here it rejoined the ranks of hardworking loyal teapots used in our household.
Then one day I accidentally knocked the side of the handle with a hefty mug. To my dismay the handle cracked right off taking a chunk of the pot with it which meant that even after it was glued back together, I didn’t want to use it to hold hot tea anymore.
Heartbroken I gently nestled it in the back of a cabinet filled with jumbled canning jars and other misfits.
Spring came and all the yellow daffodils opened their faces to the new warmth. As they petered out the tulips burst opened in a range of crimsons and golds but then they too quickly faded. I started morning rambles around the house, brainstorming garden plans to give the front flower bed a bit more interest. It was on one of these mornings when I first spied them, three velvety purple tulips tipped with soft white. Completely out-of-place in the color scheme but absolutely stunning nonetheless, I was torn between picking them for a bouquet or leaving them adoring the yard.
It was then that I remembered my poor broken teapot gathering dust. Armed with a pair of mercifully sharp scissors I set out to gather my first bouquet from the flowers planted by past gardeners. I must say I am pleased as pleased can be.