The Kitchen

[ladyauthor2b]

Journal challenge 3/30 for The Written Voice group. What's our favorite room and why?

 

The room is painted sunflower yellow and the doorframe apple green, some wistful color that didn't quite match the idea. Resting up towards the ceiling, a border of apple décor gives it a warm appeal. A red apple clock notes the time, but with a withering battery, the minutes lapse slower than the rest of the world. No matter, as I have an idea of how long the roast has been in the oven or when it's time to pull out the fresh baked oatmeal cookies. Below my feet, the tile floor is in bad need of repair. It tells a story all of its own. In one corner, the tiles are missing. The wood underneath has been frayed by the movement of the refrigerator during spring time cleaning. It also has been chewed upon by a new puppy. Beside that is a tale-tale screech mark never fully rubbed out, noting a time when my ROTC son wearing dark polished shoes dashed into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat, in his usual hurry to catch the school bus.

  On the door frame nearby, colored over by that apple green paint, lines appear underneath, when we once marked the heights of the children, and of their friends who stayed over for a night, but wound up over for the entire weekend.  The stacked dishes in the cabinets are mismatched, of old dishes given when I started out on my own and of ones given as a wedding set. Our favorite coffee cups sit on the shelf above, next to another shelf holding countless water bottles used by the kids and oddball coffee mugs collected by my husband.   The ceramic and glass canisters on the counter are mixed, good for storing the flour, sugar, and tea bags. I even have canisters to hold pinto beans, the tall spaghetti, and the long-grain white rice.

 The ceiling light has never been adequate to shed light into this room. It always seems too dark, mostly because of an ill thought of, add-on addition behind the kitchen. It made the window above the sink obsolete. As I wash dishes, there's no view of sunshine or of my backyard. All I see is the backside of some decorative rug my son hung to block the view into his makeshift room.  I usually feel upset that the previous owner of this house had no sense when they added that odd room. Its width is inadequate. My son's bedroom furniture barely fits into it.  Still, as I wash the dishes by hand, I envision when he moves out, we tear the walls down to extend the kitchen. Then I could have a real window again.  

 Thus is this crazy room, with so many remodeling possibilities. Although, it also has countless memories, as I have lived in this house, my mother's house, off and on for most of my 50 years. She had passed it onto me back in 1989.  So I can recall myself cooking potatoes on the stove while my mother made tortillas. I recall my oldest daughters chase after their kittens. I recall how I cried after my first divorce and how that floor got new tile after my 2^nd marriage. I recall those set of children scooting across with their mobile toys that helped them learn to walk. I recall all the conversations shared in that room, good and bad, and all the leisurely mornings I whipped up breakfast for my growing family. I recall making coffee and sharing a cup with my newest husband. It's an old house and it's a darn old room, my little kitchen, but it's the one that fills my heart the most.

 

[science_spot]

Apr. 12, 2009 at 6:05 AM

the color combination sounds very pretty!

[Spokenfor]

Apr. 16, 2009 at 8:43 AM

so sweet memories of your kitchen, what a blessing that you have been able to be there on and off most of your life.  Beautiful!