I may have a small obsession with kitchens. For me the kitchen is like the heart of a home.
Let the kitchen be filled always with happy laughter, deep conversation, and delicious aromas.
Lately I may have been day dreaming a little too much of my dream kitchen. I have been flipping through Pinterest, and penning pictures of what kind of kitchen I want to have someday.
I like to have a clean kitchen, when its not being used. But I want the kitchen to be a place people can feel at home in. Because more than how a kitchen is designed, is the people who fill that kitchen and the food that is created there.
A kitchen should be a place you can pull up a chair and sit at the bar while sipping on a hot cup of coffee in the early morning.
If the oven door is opened, let the aroma of fresh baked bread fill the air.
In the fall time, when the air is getting chillier and vibrant colors are floating and dancing silently to the ground, let the kitchen be filled with the smells of fresh baked Apple Pies and pumpkin pie spice (I don’t even like pumpkin pie!).
I dream of a kitchen where children can come in after a hot summer’s day of play, and drink deeply of a cold glass of Chocolate milk. (I only say that because it was one of my own favorite treats on a hot summer day growing up.)
Or in the winter after coming in from thrilling sled rides, or invigorating snow ball fights, may there be hot tea ready to be poured from memory making tea pots and sipped from pretty delicate tea cups.
In the spring time may small child hands pick the blooming daisies and I will place them in a tiny glass bottle on the windowsill above my kitchen sink.
May the sweet aromas of my kitchen always call out to the neighbors and beg them to come in and say hi and even sit a while with a cup of tea in one hand and a fresh baked cookie in the other.
And it’s ok for the cupboard to hold chipped dishes because every chip tells a story. Or maybe your mantel displays your favorite old mug because it is too cracked to hold liquid anymore, but that, too, tells stories of its own.
And when I am old and grey, may the walls of the kitchen still ring with the laughter or the tears or the hushed conversations of time and memory. May little tiny footprints still linger there, stamped upon my heart forever.