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Question 151·Medium·Central Ideas and Details

I used to think of my grandmother's kitchen as an unchanging museum: the same copper kettle, the same cracked windowpane, the same faint smell of nutmeg hovering like a patient ghost. Only recently did I understand that the sameness was not neglect but careful maintenance. Each morning before anyone else stirred, she polished the kettle, wiped the window with vinegar, and set a pinch of nutmeg on the sill so its fragrance could greet us at breakfast. What I mistook for stasis was in fact her quiet choreography, a wordless welcome rehearsed daily.

Which choice best states the main idea of the text?