Moving toward simplicity, one tea pot at a time

Driving down the muddy dirt road I saw two lovely ladies walking a blue duck on a pink leash. I decreased my speed. I looked again. The young woman bent down and scooped the blue duck up into her arms.

“I thought I was imagining things,” I told them.

They laughed. The duck smiled with his eyes.

The duck, a Swedish blue, was a household pet, the likes of which I had never seen. I couldn’t stop staring.

“When the duck’s inside the house it wears a diaper,” I was told.

I said my goodbyes and thought to myself, “Maybe Rollo (my medium-size shih tzu) would like a duck friend.” Then I thought, maybe not. And later, definitely not. Winter is over, spring is here and I want my life to be easier. Simpler.

No more using fabric tablecloths every day, maybe just wipeable place mats. But no, that would never do. I could use Bisquick instead of flour and baking powder when making a coffee cake, but that wouldn’t be particularly tasty.

On the other hand, why does Bisquick even matter to me when I don’t even have an oven? My oven blew up in late January. My new range hasn’t arrived yet.

“Any idea when my oven might arrive?” I asked the saleswoman who sold me my appliance eons ago.

“It’s held up at the port,” she says.

“What port?” I want to say. “Whose port, where, what country, what ship?”

Initially I imagined my life would be simpler without an oven. No more roasting, no more baking, less work.

Then I discovered the wonders of baking in a slow cooker. French bread in a Crock-pot, lemon pudding cake in the slow cooker, two and a half hours to moist delicious banana bread. Certainly it would be simpler to just buy banana bread, but not as delicious. And now that spring is here and the glacier surrounding my Traeger grill is receding, I’ll be able to bake with that too.

Maybe I’ll make gratin dishes filled with scalloped potatoes, cornbread, brownies and an endless variety of smoked meats. That Traeger is a miracle unless I run out of wood pellets and the new pellets get held up at “the port.” On the other hand, should our national supply chain continue to deteriorate, I’m certain the capable Vosika men at Teton Rental who sold me the Traeger would track down pellets for me even if it became more than a simple operation.

I need to embrace simplicity. Maybe not so many throw rugs, maybe not so many pillows that echo the pattern of my throw rugs, maybe not a bathrobe that matches my bed linens that match my throw rugs and pillows. Maybe I don’t need to reanimate the walls of my living room by updating the wall color. Perhaps a Ligne Roset mustard yellow sofa can wait.

Eliminate could be my mantra. The knickknacks, the banana leaf print place mats, the serving dishes, the tea trays and good heavens the teapots could simply go.

Actually I don’t have that many teapots. I treasure my first teapot that I purchased in 1972 in the Paramus Park Mall in New Jersey. I’ve got the teapot that matches my wedding china but clashes with the Easter china. And then there’s the everyday good Brown Betty, in addition to the weird pot made to look like a little country store complete with barrels and a cash register. I suppose that pot could go. But as far as that little Cotswolds thatched-roof cottage teapot that moves from place to place throughout the kitchen? That one stays with me.

That makes five teapots, and maybe a few more stashed away here and there. Life would be simpler with one or maybe none. Just a cup and a tea bag, no more loose-leaf fancy French tea, strong British Typhoo, herbal tea, citrus teas … I could go on and on.

The last time I was in Arizona I found myself in a funny place called Oracle, where I came upon the most amazing convenience store where the most wonderful fresh foods were being made.

A lunch rush in the middle of nowhere was going on with enchiladas and tortas flying out the door. As I waited my turn I looked along the shelves and discovered 100% hibiscus tea. I brought it home and boiled a pot of water in my electric kettle, brewed the hibiscus in my famously gigantic teapot purchased from Larry McCool in Crabtree Corner a hundred million years ago. I love Larry’s handmade pot as much as hibiscus tea poured into tall handmade clay tumblers paired with Southwestern-style teaspoons.

Simplicity is probably not all it’s cracked up to be.

Doreen Tome considers herself a victim of wishful thinking.