This charming old kitchen reminds me of my childhood home. In my mind's eye I can still clearly see the yellow-painted wall of my mother's kitchen which had two windows--one with a long wooden counter beneath it, on which all of the rolling of pastry dough was done, and under the other window sat the double sink, drain-board, and a white rubber-coated drain rack for holding glasses, plates, silverware and such. If the person who had wash-up duty that particular evening could manage to do so, then the frying pan and heavy dark skillets were carefully balanced on top of all the clean dishes and cups and saucers, in order to avoid having to hand-dry with a cotton tea-towel.
This was a special place to grow up; it was light years before the avalanche of product catalogues, life-style magazines, and HGTV shows convinced some of my friends and acquaintances that heaven on earth must entail a Viking 60-inch custom sealed burner range, smudge-proof French doors on the fridge, and that a second dishwasher was necessary for the times when the first dishwasher hadn't been emptied, and no one showed the slight inclination to do so. It's not that my parents were unaware of the changing trends in kitchen design and upgrades, because we did receive copies of Good Housekeeping, Ladies' Home Journal and Reader's Digest from my sister in Pensacola who liked decorating and fixing up her house on the air-force base. It's just that with so many kids to feed and clothe and get through grade school and into hight school, the idea of calling in a carpenter or plumber to talk about changing anything other than what was rotten or broken seemed strange and a little wasteful-as wasteful and unthoughtful as not remembering to mix the last of the ketchup with water to make it just go a little further. Or refusing to eat the ends of the bread-loaf.
Funny the things we remember about our families and about growing up. Memories triggered by an image gleaned from an online blog about place and sanctuary. Or triggered by the faint tinkle of the ice-cream vendor's bicycle-bell, or the aroma of frying eggs and sizzling pork sausages, or the excited chatter of neighborhood children on their way home on weekday afternoons between 3 and 4.
PS: Hope you enjoy today's visual treat and the weekend, and all of life's beauty.