The year was 1972, and I was eleven years old. We were living in Tucson, Arizona. The teakettle we acquired whistled when the water boiled, starting low, then getting higher and higher. At first, the sound scared me, but after Dad showed me how it worked, I was fascinated and even used it to boil water from time to time. Years later after I moved into my first apartment here in Sheridan, Wyoming, my next-door neighbor had a teakettle that sounded like an air raid siren. When I first heard it, I thought there was a tornado or worse and was relieved later to learn it was only a teakettle.