For a few seconds, her kettle's whistle reminds me of the noon whistle that blew at noon in my hometown of Byron Michigan. Blowing daily, we always knew the emergency whistle would probably work if Armageddon was lobbed over by the Soviet Union. The noon whistle promised to give us a few minutes to reach a basement and avoid the flash.
Today, I was thinking about her kettle when the whistle blew. And I contemplated, did a hint clue me of the whistle to come? Was there a pre-whistle whistle only a dog and a man with keen hearing could sense? I give the woman across the hall plenty of space. So I worry that I'm invading her privacy when I guess her mood from how she tends to her musical kettle. Today, her kettle raised a full, long note before she cut its song brutally short by yanking it off the burner. The note gurgled and died.
For this, I guessed she was distracted and then impatient to return to some Sunday morning task, busy on the day of rest. A week ago, her kettle began early, just before 5 AM, and the kettle song punctuated the morning until she left for the day at Nine. This I put down to the pressure of a one woman cottage industry keeping up with early morning deadlines. I like the Five AM whistles as the town of our home forbids citizens to keep roosters. Funny, she doesn't mind when I ask after for what the tea kettle blows. I get a full brief that usually puts my interpretation to rest as incorrect. Despite the ability of a tea kettle to create community, I have yet to purchase one for my stove. It's only fair that I broadcast tells to my disposition if my neighbor is willing to do so.