Quiet...I'm percolating

Recently I discovered an old percolator in the pantry closet of my Grandma's home. The house, or should I say property since the house is uninhabitable, is being sold to cover my grandma's care at a retirement home. The house is full of stuff...some meaningful items long forgotten, but mostly just junk. It was amongst the old canned jars of apricots, which had turned dark brown from decades of waiting. Nearby sat my great-grandmother's pressed glass dish, caked with dirt and minerals, suggesting that it had be requisitioned to live out the last of its long life as a mere plant holder. Old bottles of baby lotion. A dime store candle still in its wrapper with its ten cent price tag. Receipts for nothing in particular. A pile of wheat pennies. I claimed the percolator as my own, imagining its past and planning for its future as a decorative item. Perhaps one day it would relive its original purpose. Ironically though the percolator is sitting at the top of my own kitchen cupboards, perched in the darkness once again.