"Loud? That old tea cosy?" Poor, bemused hubby shakes his head in wonder and more than a little disbelief. "I know your imagination is REALLY something, but this surely takes the cake. That old hand-knitted beauty that was your Mum's?" It's so hard not to laugh out loud at the expression on his face, as I wag that soft apricot and aqua tea cosy around.
I just told him she shouted loudly at me from the back of the drawer where I keep my tea-towels stored. They march in and out in regular succession, so the plan is they'll all grow old together, with or without me. It seems my dear old tea cosy's pom-pom on top is out of whack because she never gets used; never sees the light of day; never feels that good old 'fire in her belly'! Having been patient for many years at the back of my Mum's linen cupboard, waiting for the regular ones to wear out, tea cosy took fresh heart when I inherited her. But alas, alack, she all but came unravelled when she found herself in the top drawer of a busy kitchen that captured delicious aromas every time a tea-towel left home, or returned 'to the fold'.
Ahh the pain, she muttered, when she discovered that mingled with the wondrous food delights, the aroma of coffee drifted in with alarming regularity. It's scent dominated the kitchen scene in a way none of the tea paraphernalia wished to know about. Once, the tea cosy told me, she caught a glimpse of a gift of a whole fancy-schmancy pot of special tea leaves, and her woolly ambitions and expectations flew ceiling high. But alas, that 'once-upon-a-time' anodised aluminium teapot she fitted had plunged out of favour due to newly discovered health issues, and the celebrations were short-lived. Many idle years followed, but this day of the great outpouring of heart and soul was inevitable... just needed a catalyst of some kind. And it came... from a most unexpected direction.
"Green tea? You have to be joking?!?," I'd said out loud as I was reading about some excellent, highly recommended 'daily' intakes. Try as I might, there was no way to prevent my lip tightening and curling up quite nastily in competition with my scrunched up nose — at just the thought. Stoically, I continued reading wonderful testimonials (not one of them capable of charming my lips back into any description of a smile)... until, at last... HONESTY!
'For those who find Green Tea unpalatable (yeh, right! try undrinkable...garrhh... poisonous surely?!?), there are a few suggestions...
amongst them, to stall the brewing of the tea in a teapot with the water AFTER the boil for about half a minute, then steep for NO more than a minute or two. Then add honey and cinnamon or ginger to taste... mmmm, getting almost 'human' now!
And without my permission OR volition, came the memory of that dear little GLASS pot in its cute little black holder, and lid, AND handle to prevent burnt fingers! I even knew which cupboard it dwelt in the back of.
Oops! Bu görüntü içerik kurallarımıza uymuyor. Yayımlamaya devam etmek için görüntüyü kaldırmayı ya da başka bir görüntü yüklemeyi deneyin.
Stay tuned for next week's episode of how DISASTER was avoided.
Author's Note: Between gnashing of teeth, I'm here to tell you this 'bird' never flew last week, because modern-day techie Trojans attacked my castle and brought it to its knees. All is finally back to some kind of normalcy, but it's taken a heap of blood, sweat and tears and it's not yet over. Perseverance and courage have won the day (or week, as it turns out!)... and here I am, finishing my story to include the new week's prompt — 'tangle' Aug 28, 2021, as well as last week's 'loud'.
'Keep You in Stitches' (cont'd.)
Even the little glass teapot in her 'you beaut','ready for action', human safety jacket, quivered. Could she be all I had cracked her up to be?
Oops! Bu görüntü içerik kurallarımıza uymuyor. Yayımlamaya devam etmek için görüntüyü kaldırmayı ya da başka bir görüntü yüklemeyi deneyin.
Of course, the one length of wool matching at least one of the colours, had to be intricately woven through a massive tangle with a triple rainbow of other-hued, left-over 'bits and pieces'. It became a Yarn Extraordinaire, that demanded hours of de-mistifying before the tiniest semblance of order could reign again. It wasn't easy in amongst the rumpus being raised by the caterwauling cosy.
"I''m not going to fit. I'll be a disaster," she moaned, expressing pain with every fibre of her being. If she'd been able to turn her groans into liquid and shrunk herself, all problems would have been solved without me having to resort to my (uhrr, it must be confessed... approaching the wrong side of rusty!) sewing kit.
"Never fear, my dear... your trusty seamstress is here; and as mothers have told their 'victims' from time immemorial—you'll grow into it, don't you worry, love." And with a nip here and a tuck there, Cosyrella was dressed for the ball (or the traditional tea-making ceremony, in this particular case).
