I don’t know why I am starting this blog. I am not too good with innovative technology. However, I kept my old fashion diary far too long. I find myself feeling insecure about paper books anymore. It seems that everyone reads Internet or watches TV these days. But perhaps, if I put some of my old entries online, some of those young ones will stumble upon them and read it, either for benefit or for mere enjoyment.
I guess, I have to introduce myself first. I am a Tea Kettle and I am 100 years old.
Nice to meet you. I was made in 1914 in Russia at the old Russian factory three years before the Russian Red Revolution. I was bought by a peasant girl in a small city for a golden ruble that she received from her master on her wedding day. For now, I will not post entries of the earlier days of my existence. They are, by far, too bloody and it is painful for me to go back and re-read them. I will just mention that my first owner gave me to her daughter Lidia on Christmas Day of 1937. She was ten at that time. Because it is an experiment, I will just post randomly for now and will begin with my November 1942 entry.
February 28, 1942
It’s the war. Scary. They call it the Great Fatherland War in the Soviet Union, or World War II in the rest of the world. Lidia hid me away in the furthest corner of the pantry and barely uses me. I don’t blame her. The family has no money for tea, or sugar, or bread. They drink boiled water lightly colored with whatever herbs they can find. They don’t need my services for brewing three leaves of chamomile. Sad. I miss Sunday dinners and cozy winter night tea-times. I hope that dark times will pass soon. They say that Hitler is as furious and determined as ever. I am not happy at the prospect of being broken during one of the bombings.