Pot Calling Kettle Back
We have previously discussed my tea addiction, but I’ve recently discovered I’m also addicted to my homely Revereware tea kettle. Two have served me throughout my marriage, except for my brief fling with a yellow enamel thing that got tossed on the scrap heap long ago. I’m about to indulge myself with my third Revereware kettle, purchased not out of necessity but severe nostalgia and withdrawal.
A few weeks ago my husband noticed that the old kettle had lost its whistling ability. It didn’t matter to me. Usually I’m hanging out by the kitchen window watching the garden grow or the snow swirl while I wait for the water to boil. And I always snatch it off the stove before it goes into the earsplitting shriek mode anyway. Its inefficiency bothered him, however, and before I knew it, he’d thrown away the old one and got me something that was silver and whistled—but it’s just not right. The handle feels hot to me, the spout is tricky to open, and it’s just not right. It is probably more handsome than the Revereware design, which has always reminded me somehow of a ladybug, but I don’t like it. At all. So unbeknownst to my dearest husband, I am expecting a box from Amazon any day now. And then his new kettle will magically disappear.
Life is short. Everybody has something that they just have to have to make time on Earth more comfortable. Some simple thing. A cup of tea. A good book. I’ve recently discovered Carla Kelly’s backlist thanks to my MRMR visitors, and once I post this, I’ll be reading Miss Chartley’s Guided Tour and sipping some caffeine-free peach tea, which still tastes okay even if I had to use the nasty new tea kettle to brew it. What little thing do you just have to have to make things “just right?” Goldilocks and the bears below want to know.
Language is a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we long to move the stars to pity. ~Gustave Flaubert