January 22, 2010
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Kitchen Dreams
“I get it,” I said out loud. “I’m dreaming again.”I smiled. This was my grandmother’s kitchen when it was still her kitchen. I loved my mom, but I hated the changes she made to Grandma’s favourite room. For my grandmother, the kitchen was not about decoration or color, but function. Almost everything was white or steel. When my mother would pick on her for it, my grandmother said that the only colours that her kitchen needed were found in the food she cooked and the people who visited.
The curtains had been my mother’s idea. She sewed them, and embroidered the little birds in a bright blue. I did the cherries under her supervision. It started a lifelong love of working with needles; Ken is constantly sitting on some piece I’m knitting or embroidering or something.
This was how I loved her kitchen. This is how things are supposed to be, I thought. Clean and simple.
