Laowai

I was looking back through my blog posts and found this bit of writing that I never posted. Since I wrote it Grandma has had to get a new stove. The new stove works perfectly but it could never be as good as this one with the broken knobs and scratched up surfaces. 

This is a photo that Jennifer took a while back and I have been coveting it. It’s Grandma Dice’s stove and everything about the photo says grandma. What is it about an appliance that can be so meaningful? I guess it’s because the stove and every other familiar item in the kitchen are is so closely associated with what Grandma is all about.

Her smiling, welcoming, easy, warm, familiar kitchen is her. I’ve jumped rope in that kitchen. I’ve made cookies on the opened dishwasher door. I’ve been given countless cookies. I’ve been offered tomatoes and rhubarb and wrapped up pieces of cake as I walked out the door. I’ve pulled taffy there. I was picked up by the ears by Uncle Scott. I’ve curiously watched sinks full of green beans waiting to be canned. I’ve been given cold, cold lemonade. I learned how to make an orange julius. I’ve been carried out sleeping on my Mom or Dad’s shoulder. I’ve spun round and round on the desk chair. I’ve run back and forth and out the screen door with my cousins. I’ve held hands with Grandma. I’ve been given celery sticks to munch. I’ve watched Grandma and Grandpa hug and kiss each other. And I bet I’ve been kissed by Grandma every single time I’ve ever walked into that room – that’s just what you get when you walk into Grandma’s kitchen.