My Tea Set Regrets

This is a superfluous post. If you’re here for an update on our breakdown status, we made it safely back to the RV park our friends are in by using the interim hitch, and we’ll stay here while Tracy rebuilds our good hitch. Meanwhile, I think of tea.

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It’s not my fault that I have a problem with beautiful tea sets; it’s in my blood. When I was sorting my family’s stuff, I ended up with so many sets of china that Tracy and I took the Frolic (our starter camper) to Replacements, Inc. to sell them in person. Something like six complete sets, plus crystal, silver and pewter. We joked that the boxes in the Frolic were worth more than the Frolic. (Little did we know a vintage camper craze was just around the corner.)

Of course, I went on that trip to get rid of china, and I ended up driving away with a new teapot. Because that’s how I roll.

And that’s what this story is about: how I’m a one-woman china dealer who now owns not a single piece, and I’m in a five-year search for the remedy.

All the Tea Sets I Have Loved

I’ll spare you a tour of every tea set I’ve felt a fondness for, and, believe me, I have a photo album on my phone of them all! A few are actually relevant to this story, though.

The teapot I bought at Replacements is this lovely cerulean one with raised koi swimming around it, and I picked it because it fit in the padded bag I’d bought for the road. Why I no longer own the bag or the pot is beyond me; I think I got frustrated with stowing it, and, like everything else, I gave them both away.

Same with my mom’s blue set of china with a different sailing ship on each piece; one cup of that is on this tray. On the bottom of each of those dinner plates was a description of that particular historic ship. My goodness that was a special set. Mom bought it when she saw it in a window at a second-hand store.

Among the many treasures I found in my sister Kim’s stuff were three exceptionally lovely, flowery English tea sets, two pots of which are pictured here (with assorted other pots of hers I found). I gave the three flowery sets to my friend Marie, who left them to her three granddaughters. Now that Marie has passed, I don’t know what they think of them, and maybe that’s for the best.

I kept one set at work before I gave them away, because that’s where I enjoyed the ritual of morning tea the most. Even before opening my email, I took the time to brew the tea, set out the sugar and milk, pour my steaming tea into a beautiful cup like this and sip it, slowly. The beauty of the magnolias adds to the taste, the smell, the sound of the cup being set on the saucer. A tea set slows you down, makes you more aware. Grounds you.

Just so you know I am not dragging you on a tour of every set I’ve had my hands on, above is a sample of the sets. A sample, mind you.

This Japanese set is much more in line with Kim’s personality, including the fact that one lid was missing. Aligned with my personality is that I shipped these to a friend, and I am guessing at least one of them broke on the way. I was in such a rush to care for Mom, I was partly nuts. But, even as individual pieces, they are beautiful

Here’s the zinger, the set I most regret no longer owning. The irony here is that this is the only one I bought myself; I saw it in the window of an antiques shop while walking home from boxing class. Like my mom with her clipper ships dishes! Except Mom didn’t box.

The teapot (maybe it’s technically a coffee pot) and creamer and sugar dish are polished silver, with handles in the shape of twigs, and on the lid and spout is subtle texture imitating bark. Have you ever seen such a thing in your life? I bought it for much much less than it was worth because it’s not a complete set, but I was so overwhelmed with Mom and Kim’s stuff that I didn’t think to look up the real value online. I know I didn’t pay more than $100 for it (because that’s also how I roll), but the internet tells me a full set (sold suspiciously by the antique shop I sold it to) goes for $1,000. So, not only am I an idiot for getting rid of something so beautiful, but I’m an idiot for not having made significant money off the transaction!

Check out the teacup I paired with that pot. Of course, it was my sister’s. Tiny, elegant, perfect in every way. I know her eye, even if I wasn’t with her when she bought this or enjoyed it. I hope she did enjoy it, because I did, even just briefly. Why do I not own this, still? How hard would it have been to travel with one nice tea cup and saucer? I had no idea what this life was going to be like, is what that boils down to.

All the Tea Sets I Have Tried

Which leads me to my current predicament, or, more precisely, the predicament I’ve been in since we moved into the Airstream. How do I create a ritual of tea when I have all these constraints related to packing and traveling and size?

After the koi pot, I went with with a smaller ceramic, insulated pot and a sugar dish and creamer made from Tupperware; they were easy to pack and travel with but so bereft of beauty that they ruined the whole tea experience. Why bother when you’re working with plastic? Functional but utterly ugmo, as my sister used to say.

At one point I decided a tea set was too fussy, so I bought this lovely handmade mug. I drink a bit and then forget it (because there is no ritual involved), and then the tea gets cold, and I can’t microwave it because it’s handmade. Lovely, but not functional.

In Alaska I thought I had the answer: I found an insulated pot that looked okay, and when I was riding my bike back to the Airstream with the pot in my backpack, I came across a lady selling her mom’s stuff as she moved her to assisted living. I thought, “This is meaningful timing,” so I bought a teacup and saucer. The pot lid turned out to be difficult to screw on, so I gave that away, and ditto on the cup and saucer because I never really liked it in the first place. Bad functionality, not lovely to look at.

This is what I was reduced to in Brownsville: a cheap, too-big pot from Target that I left at that RV park without regrets, a creamer that’s actually my insulated wine cup, sugar in Tupperware, and tea in a cup I bought at the flea market, without a saucer because I didn’t think I needed one. Just plain bad all around. Which leads me to my current solution.

What I’ve Learned

Here’s a universal truth that applies to more than just tea. If you’re going to enjoy an activity that requires a physical object, splurge on the most expensive, the most beautiful, the best-made object you can find. (And that you can afford; if I walked by that silver tea set again, I would pass it by. Maybe.)

Beauty and craftsmanship contribute to your appreciation of an object, and that object contributes to your ability to enjoy the activity that depends on it. I’ve bought cheaply made or uncomfortable camp chairs, hiking boots, you name it, thinking that objects are no longer important to me. On the contrary, we own so little and we wear it out so quickly.

Ritual also becomes more important the less of a chance you have to practice it.

This is all to psyche myself up for my next (and I hope last) attempt to create for myself a tea set. Durable stainless steel, somewhat attractive, inexpensive (I can’t shake that habit).

Tea cup and saucer to come. If I can make myself pay the shipping, it’ll be:

These combine characteristics of my favorite tea set items I wantonly gave away or sold, yes? Wish me luck with what I hope to be my final tea set purchase.