I have lived in New England for 46 years, and on this day in August 2014, I dove into a lake for the first time.
My kitchen. It has seen 18 years of unrelenting traffic. Its floor supported 4 infants in their tireless progression from crawling to walking. Its walls have witnessed family meetings, pasta parties, book club discussions, and family political debates. Its walls are happy walls, having heard their share of life’s familiar sounds: garrulous gossiping of teenage boys and girls, cries of toddlers, rants from frustrated parents, relentless barking from a Goldendoodle. Its oversized, now very distressed, farmhouse table has been loved to the point of its own exhaustion (one leg is barely holding on with a pathetic looking screw.) It is a proud table. Proud of its ability to hold plates and glasses and books, papers, and pencils, and 9- year- old boys. My kitchen is a gallery of children’s artwork – all priceless originals.
My kitchen is about to change.
Walls are being torn down to make space for a kitchen a bit larger and much more efficient and able to accommodate this growing family of mine. It no longer is home base for 2 adults and 4 children. Children are quickly becoming adults over here, and we need more space! As much as I am welcoming change – and believe me I am – this kitchen has been good to us, and I will miss it in some ways for sure.
…Bring it on!