When I was very young, I
was occasionally blessed to spend time with my great grandmother at her home on
Reservoir Hill. My favorite room was the
kitchen. Even now, I can close my eyes and
picture it in every detail; just as it looked those long years ago. I can see
the old wood range in the corner of the cozy kitchen, and hear the clanking of
its lids as great Grandma painstakingly brought the range to life. I remember
how the nickel handles and black cast iron stovetop shone in the flickering
light of the coal oil lamp as she polished them with a wax covered bread
wrapper. I smell the sulfur and see the flash and flutter of the wooden match as
she lit the crumpled newspaper, the sound of the dampers being opened, and the crackling
of the fire as Grandma carefully fed kindling to the growing flame. I remember
peeking in through the open dampers at the glowing embers on the grate,
watching their light dancing on the wall, and gazing up at the warming oven in
expectation of the golden brown treasures that would soon be steaming inside. And
my mouth literally waters at the memory of aromas as Grandma began to cook; the
sizzling of the bacon, the fragrance of frying eggs, and the enticing aroma of
coffee in the graniteware pot. Thank you Lord for grandmas and for memories of
our youth, and the joy it brings to share them with our friends. SC
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