It’s a cool, crisp morning where I am, and winter has definitely arrived. I began my day with meditation, followed by a comforting cup of chamomile tea.
People often ask me why I still use an old-fashioned teapot that whistles when it’s ready. For me, it’s more than just a teapot—it’s a gateway to cherished memories. Growing up, the sound of the teapot’s whistle meant my parents were making coffee, filling the kitchen with the aroma of sausage and buttered grits.
Those mornings were simple but magical, etched into my childhood: hearty breakfasts and the excitement of weekend cartoons. Every time I hear my teapot whistle now, it takes me back to those moments—a time when life felt uncomplicated and full of warmth.
My Nostalgia Growing Up
In the heart of the block where the laughter rang true,
Sun-drenched afternoons, skies painted in blue,
Children in clusters, their joy intertwined,
With dreams in their eyes and the world undefined.
The rhythm of footsteps on cracked pavement’s embrace,
Echoes of elders, their wisdom in grace,
Porches alive with stories retold,
Of heroes and legends, of courage, of bold.
The aroma of dinners wafting through air,
Fried chicken and greens, a feast we would share,
Neighbors like family, each door open wide,
In the warmth of community, we took so much pride.
Streetlights flickered as dusk painted the scene,
Playing hopscotch and tag, where we felt like a queen,
The sounds of the night, a sweet symphony,
Crickets and laughter, the pulse of our glee.
We learned from the struggles, the joy, and the pain,
Resilience woven through sunshine and rain,
In every corner, a lesson, a song,
In our cherished neighborhood where we all belong.
Now as I wander through memories’ embrace,
I carry that spirit, that love, that grace,
For the roots that we planted, the dreams that we grew,
In the heart of our block, where the love always knew.
Thee Juju Aura 
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