Life! In Grandfather's Kitchen
Life! In Grandfather's Kitchen By Kathryn Ryan Every morning
when I sniff coffee grains, memories of my grandfather in the
kitchen flood my mind. He was what I refer to as a coffee
connoisseur. Every morning at 6:00 a.m. the percolator was on
the front burner. He was loyal to his daily routine which,
besides his coffee, included a hearty breakfast, a couple of
chapters from his favorite western, and a few Bible verses.
Morning was his most cherished time of the day, when the kitchen
was his and his alone. Engraved in my memory is an effigy of
him, like something out of a Norman Rockwel painting. A warm
glow emanates throughout the kitchen as its window greets the
east. Wild birds cast fleeting shadows upon the floor and their
chatter comes and goes. How utterly delighted they sound in
adoration of the sun as though it's given them sanction to live
another day. Steam exhales from the percolator each time the
liquid caffeine explodes into the glass knob. Comparable to a
steam engine fighting up and incline, it mechanically works its
aroma into the air. Like a snake, bacon hisses from the frying
pan as the grease gives an unanticipated snap now and then. In
an even smaller pan on the back burner, two bulging yokes,
lightly sprinkled with pepper stare up at the ceiling. In the
midst of all this, the spry elderly gentleman projects his
habitual little chants, "Yupp...coffee's ready." and
"Yupp...bacon and eggs too." As he manages about the room,
friendly little creaks from the floor answer in response. With a
jack-in-the-box greeting, the toast springs from its slots.
"Oh...gotta get it while it's hot." He scurries across the room
to butter his toast. On the antique oak table, a Louis L'amour
novel sits propped up against the centerpiece with a clothespin
on the page where he left off. Not far from there sits the New
Testament with another clothespin biting a page of II
Corinthians, chapter 13. His silverware and china sit like
polished soldiers awaiting inspection, and an extra place
setting sleeps late for still-dozing Grandmother. The trill of a
teaspoon dancing inside a coffee cup always fills my heart with
warmth and security because, to me, it was the morning song of
Grandfather's spiritual presence. As sure as his faith in God,
he sat in the bright yellow kitchen every morning with a hearty
breakfast, the best coffee in town, his Bible, and his long time
companion, Louis L'amour. That's the way I choose to remember
him, sitting in the light if the sun (Son).