This was my Grandmother’s teapot.

I can’t recall ever going to to her house and not seeing this little teapot sitting on the kitchen table, alongside her tannin stained teacup. As was the custom among her generation, she always used tea leaves and she always, always, steeped her tea way too long for anyone of reasonable taste.

I like to think of the teapot as the keeper of many stories and a few secrets.

Hopefully, one day, I’ll get some of those stories written down.