My Little Red Tea Kettle

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard 

I did something for myself that I have been putting off for 20 years or more. It is a simple thing and not expensive but every little thing would get in the way. I finally went and bought myself a little red tea kettle that whistles. It cost a whole $14. So, why have I put it off so long when I made plenty of money to buy it? I cannot answer that riddle other than to say that I put me last all the time. 

When I moved in to my new rent house I promised myself I would treat myself with a tea kettle So, I went to the store. I wanted one that was silver like my grandmother Mary's but the red one kept calling out to me. I took it home and I have enjoyed having tea and coffee from it. Something about hearing the whistle of it soothes me.

Tonight I was waiting on the water to boil so my little red tea kettle would start whistling. I had planned to nestle into my recliner with a warm cup of tea and watch my favorite TV show. Yet, here I am writing instead.

As I stood there waiting for my tea kettle to whistle my mind was swept back to my grandmother's kitchen. Her nightly ritual after cooking and cleaning was to sit at the table and have her last cup of coffee for the day. She loved Taster's Choice instant coffee. If you happened to be there she would summon you to put the kettle on and make her coffee. She had to have 1 heaping teaspoon of coffee, 2 teaspoons of sugar and a teaspoon of powdered cream. When I was too little to make it she would make her some and make me up cup of "girl coffee" in this miniature China teacup. The "girl coffee" was mostly warm milk, but I always felt special sitting with her at the table drinking our coffee together. I remember one day when I was about 13 she announced I was ready for real coffee. I was so happy because now I could quit sneaking an extra spoonful of instant coffee in my cup behind her back. 

As the years went on I spent many an evening at my grandmother's table drinking coffee. We talked about nothing and everything all at the same time. We laughed, we argued and we cried. She would try to impart wisdom to me sometimes but it was as if she was speaking a foreign language to me. I just knew she would never understand me. Low and behold, I often have epiphanies about things she told me today. It seems I suddenly speak the language of my elders. 

Many times other women would be there around the table. Thanksgiving usually brought in my mother, Aunt Jessie and Aunt Frankie. I loved it when they were there. We would laugh and tell jokes. All these memories of days gone by when I was young and did not have a care in the world are etched on my heart and in my mind. I felt safe and warm there. 

So, I stood there tonight looking at my little red tea kettle, waiting on it to whistle. My mind was flooded with memories. I thought about what strong women I have in my family, especially my grandmother and mother. I am truly blessed to have been raised by them even into adulthood. They never gave up on me, even when they should have. 

Then, just as my little red tea kettle started to whistle, I realized my grandmother told one day that her favorite color was red. Tears rolled down my face. I knew that this was my grandmother's way of reaching across the great divide to tell me she is with me. See, I have alot on my plate to deal with right now. In many ways I am just like her in my little family. I am the strong one that everyone assumes will always be there with a cup of warm soothing coffee at the table of life and I often feel no one is there for me. 

I did not understand the treasure I had right in front of me in my grandmother until it was too late. Yet, I was there when she took her last breath. That was many, many years ago but it feels like yesterday. When I need to feel her near me I will get my little red tea kettle out, let it whistle, poor me a cup of instant coffee and feel my grandmother's presence with me again.

I love you grandma! 💖