My Kitchen…

I am missing everything especially my kitchen; there are no other words for it.

We no longer have a home and I don’t buy into the platitude,

“Home is where the heart is.”

My home is piled 30 feet deep in a storage unit in town while my heart, stranded in the country, languishes for a family who will very soon be scattered across the continent.

I miss all my belongings (material goods, I know), carefully and thoughtfully collected over 3 decades, bringing back memories as vividly as photos.

I can handle missing the possessions, I can sleep in another person’s bed, live in someone else’s rooms, make myself comfortable in another’s house, but I miss my kitchen sink.

Rooms bring back memories and the kitchen was the heart of our home with its:



hanging out at our son’s newly wedded house for the moment,  that went through three incarnations.  We grew from a family of two to three to six.  Little feet propped up on its pale surface while downing a bottle of milk, pots of tea with biscuits, large family lunches, noisy games of cards and the hub for creative projects from painting t-shirts to sewing clothes, from sorting photos to rolling art and all the way back again to downing bottles, mostly beer these days.

Rustic Pot Hanger made from logs left over from the towering four poster bed Hubs made in the first flush of wedded bliss.

Country Baskets on the top of the cabinets; removed twice each year to be hosed down releasing the heady smell of outdoors on their return to their perch, damp and clean.

Oak Butcher’s Block, also biding time in our son’s kitchen, where pralines were cooled, vegetables chopped, crockery sorted,  pies served,


and cookbooks stashed.  During The Wildman Experiment it was put to its proper use, butchering whatever had been hunted and slain.

Spice Cupboard selectively stocked for the various meals created with many willing hands and hours of comfortable conversations.

Linoleum Floor that showed no scuffs, crumbs or spillages.  A homeowner’s delight.

Height Chart against the pantry wall, where growth was lovingly  recorded until each child maxed out and Mum began to shrink!

Original Stove, slaved over by each family member.  At its cooktop culinary mishaps occurred, burner covers were scorched,  gourmet feasts rustled up and sauces stirred while it stood firm.

Dishwasher, rarely used, looking exactly as it had when we first bought the house twenty some odd years ago, unlike some people I know!

Side-by-side Fridge Freezer holding the raw ingredients that produced leftovers placed on the eye level shelf where it couldn’t be missed and forgotten; produce, dairy, sauces and dressings all in their place, ice cream, meat and fish, snuggling with church linens, bread, wine, spirits…and the yeast, top shelf, behind the milk, on the left.

Counter holding the electric kettle, microwave, utensils, Keurig, canisters, scales, soda stream and toaster for easy access.

Baker’s Rack, also waiting at a son’s house, that held bibles, prayers, port, bread maker, ales and scented candles.

Cupboards hiding safely stored treasures, a show and tell from Kindergarten, a daughter’s glasses from the first to the penultimate, hair cuttings, birthday cake candles, recorded birthday tapes and first cups.

My kitchen where I propped up the counter to drink a cup of coffee, eat my bagel straight from the toaster and buttered it croissant-style, bite by bite.

My kitchen where I could rustle up a batch or two of shortbread, fry some bacon at the drop of the hat, plan a meal, assemble a trifle, pour wine, while listening to music…

…and raising so much more than a few loaves of bread.



Share this:

No comments so far!

Leave a Comment