As I wandered about the big antique store, I stopped to touch a metal dipper like the one on the outside washboard at my grandpa’s house. I hadn’t seen one in years. A log cabin quilt hung over the side of a baby bed. When I looked closer, I saw the rough stitches and thought maybe some child had learned to quilt at her grandmother’s elbow. The old pie safe still had all its screen wire intact or else someone had done an excellent job in the mending of it.
And then, there it was---a chipped blue enamel coffeepot sitting on the table. My mind leapt back in time to my grandmother’s kitchen and my childhood. Ma Hayes had a pot exactly like that blue one. It perched on the back corner of her old iron wood stove. Crouching on its big ornate iron feet in one end of her huge kitchen, the stove had an iron belly that glowed red from the raging fire within. Dotted with black battle scars, the blue glazed coffeepot sat simmering or boiling during the many meals in the kitchen and came out only to finalize the meal. Today I would throw away such a wounded...
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