Tea Time

They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season.

- Psalm 1:3

You know that ditty from childhood, we teach each new generation of toddlers. The one with all the accompanied movements. Watching children sing and perform "the Little Teapot" is a delight because they are free of inihibition. They're their authentic selves bathing in the love we shine upon and give them - except when we're busy with the business of adulthood. That's why grandparents, single aunts, uncles, friends and cousins are important. They are the attentive audience. Young ones have not learned yet, how to cover up their real selves and hide. 

I'm a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle. Here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, then I shout. "Just tip me over and pour me out!!"

I've been that teapot lately. Actually, I've been more like the whistling kettle on the stove. Being snowbound can do that to anyone. However, there's more to the picture than the almost 100 inches of snow on the ground. The snow and storms just keep coming and coming, reminding us, humans, that we are not in charge here in New England, or on any place on planet Earth. The seasonal weather reminds me of that fact. Within the culture of New England, Yankees, as we're referred to in other parts of the United States, weather is the ice-breaker to conversations with strangers and friends alike. It doesn't matter what season. Our first comments to one and another are about the weather and "Can you believe this?"

The whistle of the kettle grates on my nerves. Naturally, I'm indisposed. So the whistle becomes louder, stronger, more insistent, shrieking to be removed from the heat. I'm the tea kettle, impossibly steamed up, waiting for someone to take me off the fire of the stove.

It will take more than a cup of tea to lift my spirits. But it's a great start!