Why I Love My Little Kitchen

So, I love my kitchen. I know, I made that obvious in the title, but it bears repeating. πŸ˜‰ I tell my hubby this all the time, and he just shakes his head and says: “Why?”And I always reply: “I don’t know why, I just do.”

Truly, there’s nothing special about my kitchen itself; in fact I’m certain other folks aren’t envious when they walk in my kitchen. The countertops are like the rest of my house, over forty three years old, and it shows. The finish is gone, and anything that touches them leaves a stain, forcing me to have a close working relationship with Clorox and Magic Eraser. The linoleum is stained and chipped.

The faucet, when we moved here, had the hot and cold water reversed from standard. It stayed that way for about two years, then hubby finally fixed it. Now, half a year later I’m still drawing cold water for dishes, and scalding myself when I just want a cold glass of water.

I say all this, not to complain, but to assure you that I’m not here to brag about my sparkly, perfect, up to date, newly remodeled kitchen. Nope, not my kitchen. Maybe someday… πŸ™‚

I cleaned my kitchen today, and like I do almost every time, I thought about where each little tool and accessory came from as I put them away, and I smiled at the memories associated with them.

My little girl pulled on my skirt, wanting all of Mama’s attention… fussing, whining, and yes, frustrating me a bit, until I thought to set her up where she could watch. Then, as I continued working, with a happy little girlie babbling at me from her perch on the counter, it hit me that she only has 5 months left of being an only child.

Shame on me for being annoyed at her tugging on my skirt, slowing me down! Slowing down is what I needed; we’re supposed to be making memories here! So I sang silly songs in a silly voice and she giggled… and I fed her all the cereal she could eat, to keep her happy and in one spot while I went back to my cleaning. And back to my sappy thoughts about my little kitchen.

 I realized something else. I do love my kitchen, but not necessarily for the kitchen itself. I love the memories in it, and the things that inhabit it. (Not you, fruit flies, go away!)

Since I have been feeling really busy and unispired to write these days, I decided to dedicate this post to spelling out to Hubby dear, and anyone else who cares to continue reading, the reasons why I so dearly love my kitchen. Quick disclaimer: there is no moral lesson or scriptural connotation this time, so don’t hold your breath for that. πŸ™‚ 

I love my kitchen, first of all, because it is the room I spend the most time working in. When Hubby’s friends come over, they gravitate toward the kitchen, hoping for a cookie or some leftovers- and sometimes they just drop by at meal time, which makes my day. πŸ™‚ 

Each day our meals are cooked on my old General Electric harvest gold stove. Whether it’s Sunday lunch, roast turkey “with all the fixin’s,” or plain old sausage gravy and pancakes, each meal is made with love in my sweet li’l kitchen.

Having mentioned the stove… how I will miss that stove when it finally gives up. I feel like her giving up in the near future is inevitable, as the poor thing is thought to be as old as the house. I assume she wasn’t used as hard in the first 41 years as she has been the last two, but 43 years is a long time! And she still cooks and bakes like a pro!

Call me weird, but I have even learned to love her cheery gold color, and when I’m forced to choose a new stove, I may just have to see if GE does custom colors on any of their stoves. Vintage is in style, you know… It’s possible!

As I wipe off the stove, I notice that my canisters are dusty, so I give them a quick swipe. I smile as I remember how hubby didn’t like them when I bought them before our wedding. He was very unimpressed on his first look at them, but when he moved into the house we planned to live in after marriage, I set up his kitchen with some of my things. They must have grown on him, because when he came home that evening, he texted me ” I like your jars after all.” That’s the memory that comes back to me every time I wipe off my “jars.”

I move on to my favorite old cast iron skillet and wonder how many pounds of bacon I have fried in it. I remember when Daddy bought it at an auction for me before I was even engaged. Even more special, the auction happened to be the personal property of one of my great aunts, so I don’t just have a great skillet, but a family skillet! My other two belonged to Hubby’s grandma, so we have all kinds of sentimentality going on with our skillets. 

It’s perfectly seasoned, and so smooth inside. I love being able to scramble eggs, give it a quick rinse and swipe with a paper towel, and it’s good to go for next time. On its handle, there’s a little “handle-shaped pot-holder. It’s well worn, as it should be; it’s five years old. Hubby bought it for me at the Lodge outlet store in Sevierville, TN, on our honeymoon. ❀️❀️

To the left of my stove is a little yellow bowl with a lid. Just one word on the side. Drippings. And that’s what it holds. Around here we make our own bacon and almost every drop of that good old bacon fat gets poured in my drippings bowl. Bacon grease=liquid gold! We use it to fry eggs and corn cakes and to season our green beans, and hubby even mixes it in his hamburgers before grilling to make them juicier and more flavorful.

I got my cute little bowl from my mother in law, who is one of the most generous people I know. She gave it to me when she shared a house with us for awhile. More precious memories. I wipe a drop of grease off the side and keep going.

My mixer, a bridal shower gift from my Mom and sisters, sits in the corner of my counter. It has faithfully stirred up many a batch of bread and cinnamon rolls, and Hubby has made quite a few of his famous (at our house) made-from -scratch spice cakes. He’s really handy in the kitchen and tries to claim he uses the mixer more than I do, but that’s debatable. πŸ™‚

I especially love that my mixer is red, because red’s my favorite color. Harvest Gold is competing heavily with gray for a close second, and hubby just wishes I liked everything black or white like he does…

Speaking of black, there is the knife set he bought me last winter. Not for Christmas, to be sure, he doesn’t do holidays and birthdays, he “just got them cause we needed new knives.” They arrived awfully close to Christmas though. πŸ˜‰

We disagreed about what color handles to get; he thought black, for practicality’s sake, but I thought the pearl handles were prettier. He was a sweetheart and ordered the pearl handles; but what do you know- they showed up black! I could have gotten them replaced since that’s not what we ordered, but since we had ordered a custom set, I decided to keep them. And I love them, black handles and all. They are amazingly, dangerously sharp… I now have holes in almost all my dish cloths! 😳

There is more I love about my kitchen. I love the pig shaped cutting board that a good girlfriend of mine MADE and gave us for a wedding gift… I love the brown stoneware mixing bowls Hubby bought me when we were dating… I love the old Pepsi crate he bought me at an antique store. It makes a perfect spice rack.

I think what I love most about my kitchen, is the fact that if I ever move from here, I will still love my kitchen, no matter how dilapidated or unhandy it is. I will love it, because, Lord willing, I can bring along all these things that make me so happy, with all their accompanying stories and memories. I can cherish those memories, and embrace each opportunity to make more memories.

‘Cause the memories are what it’s all about…

One thought on “Why I Love My Little Kitchen

  1. I understand perfectly! How our space becomes a part of who we are.My kitchen is old and small and very unhandy.The countertops have a dumb “ridge” screwed on where grime collects.But it has a lot of good memories.Blessings on your day.~Nancy~

    On Sat, Jul 8, 2017 at 1:54 AM, A Farm Wife’s Reflections wrote:

    > Jeanette posted: “So, I love my kitchen. I know, I made that obvious in > the title, but it bears repeating. πŸ˜‰ I tell my hubby this all the time, > and he just shakes his head and says: “Why?”And I always reply: “I don’t > know why, I just do.” Truly, there’s nothing special a” >


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