The kettle is calling
Photo: Edgewater Presbyterian Church.
In almost every sermon at Edgewater Presbyterian Church that I’ve delivered, I sneak in a mention of our Scottish grandmother, Rose. I always wanted to make her laugh from the pulpit. Now, she is in her last days.
She moved here from Scotland many Edgewater moons ago. She worked caring for other people’s children. She told stories of hanging out with her girlfriends at Double Bubble and other neighborhood taverns—meeting handsome cops after their long shifts. She liked music, “Turn the dial and find a good dancing tune.”
Like any Scot, she had the gift of gab over a hot cup of tea, “A little gossip is fine when it’s over a cup.” She knitted, read paperback mysteries, and didn’t mind a dessert with a splash of whiskey. When she walked in with rain bonnet dripping from a good Chicago rain she’d declare, “Never you mind. The flowers need it.”
I don’t know how to end this post. Just thoughts. Just memories. Maybe I’ll keep mentioning her in my sermons. That’ll keep her alive.
The kettle is calling.
