My mother's little brown betty English teapot lid was one on the disaster list. I remember the sunny day we had tea in Charlie's tearoom. For a brief couple of years we had a little "Mitford" right there on the main street of a little town our house borders. We saw friends there. And we would linger over our tea. Charlie had all kinds of teapots lining the shelves way high up on his walls. Fun to see and all for sale. My mom bought a little green brown betty and after she enjoyed it for a few years, she passed it on to me. I have loved it's small size and it's inner strainer that holds tea leaves while they steep. And I loved its shape. So much about a teapot is in it's spout and handle, don't you think?
The glue job was not all that great. But I'm learning. And I used it this morning when I served breakfast to a tea-drinker who lives in Johannesburg (you know, tea is important in places like that). I kind of liked the fact that it was worn and tired looking and not so perfect. I think when someone serves you out of something that has been mended, you know it is a very loved piece. And most likely carrying a story.
This young lady has a good view of things, and she writes it down very well. It's worth a read.