In the course of these entertaining little shopping trips, I managed to acquire a few new pieces for my collection of teapots. Well, perhaps that statement is a bit misleading; what might be more accurate is to say that I found some beautiful teapots to assist in the birth of a collection that has the potential to be quite extensive. Erm, to be quite truthful, then, I should say that prior to the trip, I maintained no such collection. Now I do. Funny how things change, eh?

Before I happened upon the notion, we were stomping about the numerous gift shops, wherein I was growing increasingly frustrated. "It's not fair!" I finally burst. "I don't want a house full of cluttered, unrelated knick-knacks, but I would like a collection of something! Mom collects snow-globes, my aunt collects mice, and you have your hippos. I want something for which I can search through dusty bins! I want something that our friends can look at and say, 'That is just the thing for Carrie!'"

Eric nodded sympathetically, but I could tell that he thought I was being something just shy of rational over the issue. After a little thought, I realized what he was thinking. "Collections aren't meant to be started that way, are they? You're not supposed to want a collection; you're supposed to like a particular thing, and once you've obtained several of whatever you enjoy, then the collection is born naturally. That's what you were thinking, right?" It was. Logic didn't change my disappointment in the gift shops, though.

Later that afternoon, in a gourmet kitchen store, I was browsing through the tea accessory collection. (I consider myself something of a tea and tisane connoisseur; just the previous day, in a bookstore tea room, I had found my own personal herbal blend being sold under the name of "Gaia." Eric thinks we should start our own business someday, mixing herbal blends and selling them by the three-ounce jar.) As I was looking over the pots with envy, it suddenly occurred to me: why not collect teapots? I have a couple at home that I enjoy very much, and - more importantly - the beginning of such a collection would give me just the excuse to buy one of the lovely ones on the shelf before me.

"It's actually a good choice for a collection," I rationalized to Eric. "They're utilitarian and beautiful. Plus, it's much harder to go wrong with a teapot than it would be, say, with frogs. I've seen some horrible frog art out there, but not so much with teapots."

"Just buy the teapot, already!" So I bought the one I'm holding in today's picture. Isn't it lovely? Later on our trip, we stopped in a cafe and I spied on the shelf this second little teapot, and I immediately fell in love. I tried to resist it, but when the pot worked its way into my dreams that night, I found myself sneaking back to the cafe before we left town. My craving is satisfied, for now. The only remaining problem lies in the fact that both Eric's hippo collection and my new collection are beginning to take more room than the tops of our bookshelves can provide. Something will have to be done, soon. We have no room for a curio; perhaps a few wooden shelves?

And I was angry about that, too. What was the point of having given up the caffeine, anyway? The health of a baby whose arrival was nowhere in sight? The smells of the various coffees overwhelmed my weakening will, and I ordered a large coffee with multiple shots of espresso. It was even better than I remembered, and one coffee turned into a veritable drinking spree over the few remaining days.

Oh, and while I speak of drinking sprees, I should mention that I also became reacquainted with my old friend, Mr. Whiskey Sours. Well, we wanted to go to the jazz club, and there was a one drink minimum; what could I do? I'm afraid that I didn't stop at the one required drink, though, and by the time Eric and left the club, I was quite foxed. It would appear that my pregnancy-based year of teetotaling really did a number on my tolerance; I now truly qualify as a "cheap date." For a while, I was even entertaining the possibility that I and my drinks might violently part ways, though I managed to gracefully lose consciousness before the threat could be realized.

Eric's will power was stronger than mine. He's been a nonsmoker for several years now with only a rare slip, but the tobacconist shops were almost his undoing. I must admit to some frustration when he began to use me as an outlet for his frustration; as he stormed away from the shops, he tossed his anger in my direction, as if I was the only reason for which he couldn't smoke. While that option may have been convenient for him, and while the blame game may have allowed him to feel stronger in fighting the urge to buy a pack, I was not at all thrilled to be forced into the role.

Perhaps next trip down, we'll simply avoid going past that shop.

And there's a chill in the air. The breezes are beginning to smell a bit like autumn, my favorite time of the year. This is when I first fell in love, when I had my first kiss. This is the time when I left home and began to see the world with my own eyes, not my parents'. This is when I was born, in so very many ways including than the most obvious.

I think it's going to be another good year.