I have cherished memories of my parent's kitchen. Not that it was a modern, state of the art kitchen. On the contrary, it was an old, badly- taken- care- of- kitchen. The kind where the drawers are hard to open and when they are closed, they all looked crooked.
Every year my parents had sincere intentions of fixing it up, but the most we ever did was paint it in a different color and change the paper on the shelves and drawers. I can even remember the smell of rust in the drawers as I struggled with the old spoons, knives and can opener. Back then I wished my parents would buy new stuff. But their answer was always the same. "Soon."
When my parents passed away I realized how much of them were reflected in those old utensils. They held so many memories. I know we all have a spoon we really like, a knife we can't cook without, a favorite cutting board. Somehow all those shiny, new utensils start to lose their appeal. Instead we begin to treasure those old, burned never-fail utensils that keep so many stories.
Every year my parents had sincere intentions of fixing it up, but the most we ever did was paint it in a different color and change the paper on the shelves and drawers. I can even remember the smell of rust in the drawers as I struggled with the old spoons, knives and can opener. Back then I wished my parents would buy new stuff. But their answer was always the same. "Soon."
When my parents passed away I realized how much of them were reflected in those old utensils. They held so many memories. I know we all have a spoon we really like, a knife we can't cook without, a favorite cutting board. Somehow all those shiny, new utensils start to lose their appeal. Instead we begin to treasure those old, burned never-fail utensils that keep so many stories.
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