|My two-butt kitchen|
THE LULU CHRONICLES
Next week we will have lived in this country house for fourteen years. We moved here from a house in town that we’d lived in for 23 years. The house in town was over 100 years old and had a big, roomy kitchen. Our new house sports what I call a two-butt kitchen. The alley way between the sink and the island is truly the heart of this house even though only two people can maneuver around it at a time.
No matter the size, kitchens are where we live. It is the one room in the house that can employ all members of the family at the same time. Setting the table, stirring the pot, getting the ice out for drinks, and shredding the cheese. Kitchens provide an open forum for giggles, arguments and learning to help out.
When our sons were growing up our kitchen table was a tongue and groove antique pine board table. Rubbed to a soft, shiny sheen, that old table gave warmth to the entire room. Not only was it a great table to munch Special K on, but also for mulling over the day with a hot cup of tea. Mail was read there. Snacks were prepared there. Grocery lists were made there. It was a great table for laboring over homework… at least I thought so.
Kitchens and kitchen tables are pretty basic to our way of life. We all have our spots for the dishtowel, the cookie jar, and the dishwashing stuff. Centerpieces made up of salt and pepper shakers and sugar bowls are universal. Nothing fancy, just functional and familiar--a place to gather around at the beginning and end of the day; a room that gives us a hand at being family.
These days our little two-butt kitchen serves me and The Hubs just fine. But when the eight grandkids come it does this miraculous ‘five fishes and two loaves’ thingy and expands to handle every one at the same time. This one needs a drink of water; this one is helping me bake cookies; this one has Crayons and markers spread out on the table—the activity fills my soul.
Got any kitchen table stories? I’d love to hear them.