“Come,” she said softly. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”
She filled three pots with water and placed them on the stove.
I watched, confused, as she worked silently.
Into the first pot, she dropped several carrots.
Into the second, she lowered a raw egg.
Into the third, she poured a handful of ground coffee.
“Grandma,” I asked quietly, “what are you doing?”
She didn’t answer.
She simply turned on the heat.
Soon the water began to boil.
Steam rose slowly, filling the small kitchen and clouding the windows.
Minutes passed.
I felt restless, confused—not just about the pots on the stove, but about everything in my life.
