The old Russell Hobbs tea kettle gave up the ghost a few weeks ago. It seems like just the other day it was the new Russell Hobbs, so I was unprepared for the breakdown, at first thought I must have been turning it on the wrong way.

But oh no, it was truly broken, could no longer be babied along by turning it every so slightly to the right on its base, like cracking a safe. Now, the search for the new tea kettle will begin, but given the craziness of the season I could see it taking a while.

In the meantime, there is a stand-in I brought up from the basement and dusted off. It’s the trusty whistling tea kettle, decades old. It may be made of aluminum, it may be hastening our senility, but I love the jolly way it announces that the water is tea-worthy. Not with a click of a power switch but with a shrill whistle that brings me scurrying from the far corners of the house. It brooks no interruptions, knows its own mind. And the water it produces makes a fine cup of tea.