I’ve had a fair number of kitchens in my life. And in each of them, something happened. Something worth words.
Here goes: “All My Kitchens: Essay 1”
1The first kitchen I can remember was decorated in late 1970s decor. Browns and oranges and yellows. Dark wood and lots of it. Below the cabinets stood a yellow counter that jutted out. The yellow peninsula divided the kitchen and the dining room. Just off the dining room was a sliding glass door that looked out on 5 acres. A big red barn, two horses, a chicken coop. Pine trees as tall as the sky. Our ranch style house was situated just outside of Colorado Springs in a rural area called Black Forest. Everyone kept horses in Black Forest and those who didn’t keep horses kept lamas, peacocks, chinchillas, or chickens.
Memory is funny. Sometimes it’s hard to say what you actually remember and what you think you remember. Because, where memory lacks, photography fills in…Like the memory I have of my first birthday cake. Or is it the photo I have of myself with my first birthday cake? In any case, I’m one-years-old and that’s me sitting in the high-chair. My father has spent all day making a triple-layer cake for me. He’s expertly stippled a rendering of Strawberry Shortcake, the much beloved 1980s cartoon character, in frosting. It’s truly impressive. Pink, red and white dots make up Strawberry Shortcake’s hat, dress and strawberry bundle. With sheer delight, my dad slides this beautiful cake in front of me. My blonde curls tuck over my ears. My mouth turns into a toothy smile. And then – straight away without warning – I lodge my entire face into the cake. The giggling never stopped.