photo by wildorange55
I followed him to the tiny kitchen and watched him put a kettle on the stove, grab a mug, cut a piece of lemon. He poured boiling water into the mug, swirled it around, and poured it back into the kettle. "Why did you do that?", I asked. He spooned some tea leaves into the steaming mug, scratched his head with his two good fingers, turned around to look at me and said "To heat up the mug." Duh. We waited for the water to come to boil again.
The water is not nearly as hot when it comes out of the office water dispenser. But every morning I have the same mug warming, tea making ritual, and I can't help but think of him. My grandpa was not really known for being sweet. But that day, even though I offered to make tea myself, he insisted on making it for me. And it kind of breaks my heart.
I'm so glad I decided to follow him to the kitchen that day.