Finding a few favourite pictures taken in moms kitchen has turned into a treasure chest of memories. We spent a lot of time there whenever we went to visit the farm. It’s a place we didn’t appreciate enough when we were growing up, and then a place we could hardly wait to return to after we moved away. It was where our family (which grew) sat down to eat the best meals ever. It was all about us, until it became all about our kids.
I love the look on my brothers face – he was a man who loved his sons. I don’t think it was ever a difficult thing for them to love him back.
The back-splash of orange flowers I remember vividly. Because it was vivid. That space between the top of the cupboards and the ceiling was always covered in a hodge podge display of things that weren’t useful but were just too nice to throw away. Gifts from well-meaning people and antiques belonging to grandma. There were ceramic roosters on the other side. I don’t need a picture to remember those. Sometimes on a visit we’d climb up there for mom and wash and dust everything and check out the names on the bottom of things. Grandma was great for writing the names of her relatives on adhesive or masking tape and sticking them on things she thought they might like to have after she was gone. It’s a great system – certainly easier than writing it all down on paper. Mom carried on that tradition. My own cupboards go right up to the ceiling with no space on which to put things. There are some traditions that aren’t that hard to give up.
I can tell it’s Christmas because of the plastic holly and the tree shaped candle. But every meal at moms was like a Christmas feast. Small people were supposed to sit on the bench on the far side of the table, but obviously on this day we got a little mixed up. Funny, no matter how many people showed up to eat, there was always room at the table, and left overs for later. It was a magical place.