Kitchen Reveal and Goodbye
We finished the kitchen.
When it was done, working in this kitchen made cooking like performing ballet.
In my head, it felt like ballet of the professional kind, not three-year olds doing squats and hops on a gym stage.
It could’ve looked like toddlers’ ballet in there, but it felt graceful and smooth.
I’ll concede that sometimes I didn’t have my shit together. There may have been a sloppy grand jeté or two across the room to get something I didn’t have ready when it should have been.
I miss this kitchen.
I miss it because we’ve moved.
We took all of those pots and pans (well, I did give one of my three[?!] woks away) and moved the family to New York.
Our new house is beautiful. The kitchen is so pretty. I am already cooking daily, figuring out appliance temperaments, fishing out particular cookbooks from the thirty boxes of books still awaiting unpacking.
Still, I am sad. I am sad to have left a kitchen my husband and I built for us– for me mostly.
There is a small, shallow mourning happening of which I am ashamed. I am fortunate to have what I have but here I am, in a very nice kitchen in a house we fought hard to buy, moping over my old kitchen.
We are not decided on what we will do in this new house. The kitchen has been updated in the past 15 years but I find myself fumbling and cramming, even when I thinned out the troops before moving. We are talking about walls, beams, and stovetops but have yet to say ‘ok, let’s do this.’ The house is old and we are concerned about losing character with a renovation.
For now, we will make the kitchen work and settle in before making plans. We’ll listen to what a 125 year old house has to tell us before we tear out bones. I will kick myself in the ass when I feel sad over losing one kitchen for another because I should be thankful, thankful, thankful.