Every Kitchen Tells a Story
My house was built in 1931 and we are the second owners of this home.This was the first house either of us had owned- and we really didn’t know what the F we were getting into.
Truth: We still don’t have it all figured out.
I find myself caught in the age of HGTV where everyone has a plan. Ideas. Favorite styles. Pin boards. Budgets. Dream kitchens.
I seem to just watch all that stuff like science fiction: Never. gonna.happen.
I’m just trying to make it through dinner most nights.
But what I do watch is how the dishes pile up in my kitchen sink, and how the counter top is full of crumbs and stained with the faint color of washed vegetable peels in the morning after packing lunches.
And how my dog Violet the Lamb quietly sneaks in to wait for the moment I announce it’s cold cut day! And drop a sliver of Oven Gold right where she can catch it.
I look at my floors and see footprints of cleats and splashes of old coffee that i didn’t clean up before rushing to work.
I watch how my kids fix their breakfast and make tea before school, opening cabinets original to this house to find the honey. And how they take turns sitting on a stool that was painted by a dear family friend and given to us for a wedding gift- instead of saddling up to a granite island we will never have.
I guess the stool is vintage, by definition, so that is pretty cool.
I watch my not so stainless steel stove top become streaked with remains of dinner, and tire in appearence from feeding a family of 4, 3 meals a day.
This 1931 kitchen is old and not yet renovated- But the stories it holds are real and ever present.
This kitchen is lived in.
It is where our life happens- shiny or not.
Love Dwells here.