There’s a full kitchen a few doors down from my office, and someone left the tea kettle to boil and walked away.
It was going for two or three minutes before I got up to shut it off… I felt like I was back at Grandma Cichon’s house, where a lot of times it felt like I was the only one who heard the kettle going.
By the time I made it down to the kitchen just now, I was thinking back to taking similar steps towards a whistling kettle to make a couple of cups of awful instant coffee for Gramps and me… so we could sit and talk with Lawrence Welk or Stan Jasinski playing in the background.
“Perfect. Thanks son,” Gramps would say to any cup of coffee, knowing that it was made with love.
Perfect. Thanks Gramps.