on the lunchtable
Home from classes. The wind is HOWLING. The sky is grey. But in my kitchen there’s so much that is warm, rosy and comforting.
The yellow table. Ember red tomatoes, dressed in the juice from Mum’s lemons and olive oil. The rich golden yolk of the egg one of my girls left for me this morning. At my side is John Birmingham’s terrific tale of Edwardo, the horriblest boy in the world (found at the opshop for $1 and a fable that is so powerful, young and old should re-read it at least once a month).
And on the stove … a new to me, vintage red enamelled coffee pot. Oh I do love red. And I do love a good vintage coffee pot. Listening to them … smelling them gurgling away on the stove top always makes me think of Snow Falling on Cedars. A scene that is permanently stuck in my brain, when Ishmael comes down the stairs of his mother’s home – it’s very grey and dark with rain and winter, but on the stove, there’s steam and warmth and the comforting fragrance of coffee bubbling away in an enamelled pot.
In fact, when I googled Snow Falling on Cedars to see if I could find the exact paragraph I am thinking about, instead I found the LAST time I brought home yet another vintage coffee pot and wrote sentimentally/wistfully of that very scene.
Ah some things never change, hey! I daresay I shall spend the rest of my life enjoying red, vintage coffee pots and Snow Falling on Cedar. Mayhaps, I shall even tell you all about it yet again :-)
I shall, however, call into the Balaclava coffee merchant on the way home from school this afternoon and buy me so decaf. Otherwise I’ll never be able to enjoy this gorgeous wee pot as much as it deserves without my head rolling off my shoulders and down the street.