Kitchen

My grandmother was an artist in the kitchen. When she was creating a work of art, whether is was as simple as breakfast or as elaborate as her fresh, organic, six layer coconut cakes, she donned her smock (an old, worn out, plaid shirt of Granddaddy's on which you could see her darning stitches if you looked closely enough) and an old pair of cotton ankle pants the color of the summer sky and set about her work.

The white flour would end up everywhere. It would be all over her clothes, in her hair and on her face. Her red speckled counter-tops were covered in patches where bits of her paints- the ingredients for her creation- had dripped off the spatula or out of the often neglected measuring cup. Not even the floor was spared from her creative mess.

Every single time, Grandmother's creations turned out perfectly. To the eye, they were beautiful; the smell made your mouth water; and the taste was a pure delight to our tongues and fulfilling not only to our bellies but to our souls.

I sorely miss all those times spent with Grandmother in her kitchen. She sang and chatted away every step of the way. I remember those special times and her words. But, somehow, the magic she worked in her kitchen evaded me. Or did it?

While I might not be near the artist she was in the kitchen, I did receive understanding of the importance of the kitchen. A place for sharing words of wisdom. A place for singing. A place for telling secrets. A place for spending invaluable time with those we love. A place that continues to do these things and more in our kitchen.


FYI: My 'L' post will be late. It's wedding weekend so y'all probably won't see it until Sunday. Sorry in advance!

I'm linking this post to the eleventh post of the April, A-Z Challenge!

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Ok, let's see what y'all came up with for the letter 'K'!