My father’s father, the Reverend Heinrich Noack was born in 1910. I knew him as a grandfather who read us Pilgrim’s Progress after dinner. He seemed wise and strict and bookish. After he passed away, my aunt gave me his teapot, and over the years I’ve used it so often… and every time I wonder a little at the dissonance between this outrageously brightly-colored vintage enameled tea kettle and the solon elder in my life who wore a black duster and a hat. Where did he get this tea kettle from? Did he buy it for himself? Did someone give it to him? Who would have chosen such a strangely colorful teakettle for him? My grandmother enjoyed pretty things, I have two pieces of her fine china. This tea kettle is all clashing, splashing colors… it doesn’t seem like her at all…. This mystery sits in my kitchen, and I feel connected to him in this strange and particular way on a wintery night of tea.
MY GRANDFATHER’S TEAPOT
