From the editor...
The Gift
The number printed on the bottom is 5294 along with an impression “made in England”. Cracks along the top of the lid are fine, like strands of hair. Time has turned the strands to a light golden brown. The teapot itself is squat, but elegant, with a delicate hand-painted rose on the backside put there by an artisan who I imagine wanted to reemphasize the larger image that had been skillfully painted on the front of this exquisite work of art. I imagine too that he or she must have been awfully proud of the creation for alongside the number are initials signed in the gold leaf the same gold leaf that borders the opening.
I held this teapot in my hands for the very first time over the Thanksgiving holiday. A temporary gift, from my cousin Carolyn, who was generous enough to allow me to bring it to my home to be photographed. It was handed over to me with the promise that I would return it when we made our way home again.
After my grandmother died and I was whisked off to live with my mother, the remnants of my childhood all remained in the home where I grew up. Things like photographs, items from my years of kindergarten and elementary school all remained. My grandfather continued to live there until he died many years later and the home was then taken over by an aunt. And it was during that period that tragedy struck. The place where I spent my childhood burned to the ground during my freshman year in college and with it every physical thing that represented my early existence.
I have often wondered what I looked like as a baby as I never saw a photograph of me as an infant. I was able to see images from my school days by going through school records, but everything before that period was lost. I often think this is one of the reasons why I have so many images of my children around our home; an effort on my part to document their journeys.
While spending time over Thanksgiving in the home of my cousin we struck up a conversation about the old “homestead” and it was then that she shared that she had gone there immediately following the fire and had taken the time to dig through the rubble in order to find what might remain. And there among the shattered dishes and ashes was this lone teapot. It was dirty and a little beaten from the fiery ordeal it had gone through, but somehow it had miraculously survived.
When she pulled the teapot from her cabinet vivid images washed over me of memories of my grandmother and her church ladies sipping tea in our living room. I recalled too that the living room was a place where only special “company” was allowed to sit. I can’t be sure if they ever used this particular teapot, but knowing my grandmother, I am sure she would not have missed the opportunity to show it off to her guests.
I am treasuring the moments I get to spend with this gift as I know that in less than a year it will have to make the journey back home.
True gifts are funny things. The most treasured are the ones that come when we least expect it. They come from the heart and there is always a purpose for why they are being imparted to you.
We don’t always know why life turns out the way it does, but we can be certain that despite its misfortunes, it always leaves a wonderful gift behind.
During this holiday season as I reflect on the many blessings that are mine, I am so grateful that one of those gifts that has been given to me is you.
May the joy and the blessings of this holiday season be yours! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Hanukkah and Love to all!
Deigratia, (by the Grace of God)
Bonnie
