NJM25 in NoJoMo 2014
- Nov. 25, 2014, 9:14 a.m.
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- Public
What is your most vivid memory of the kitchen in your childhood?
I have several kitchen memories growing up.
I have vague memories of my Gramma’s big, huge kitchen, or so it seemed when I was a wee little girl and her always cooking something.
I remember the first house we all lived in, as opposed to an apartment or townhouse, it separated the bedrooms from the living room. Early, early one Christmas morning, I was no more than five, the excitement kept me from sleeping and I snuck out of bed to see what Santa had left.
Well apparently Santa was still there, lol. I heard my Dad, probably putting out the last of the presents and when he heard me I ran and hid under the table. I don’t know if he saw me or not, but I was scared enough that I went right back to bed, lol.
I remember the kitchen in the house we lived most of our formative years in. My mom would be sitting at the table with her coffee, playing solitaire every morning without fail.
I also remember the kitchen in my Gramma’s apartment, after they moved out of the big house. She taught me so much about cooking, little tricks and tips I use to this day. It was always a place filled with love.
Happy Tuesday!!
NorthernSeeker ⋅ November 25, 2014
Our kitchen floor had alternating yellow and black tiles. As a teenager, I had to wash and wax it one day in the throes of a violent rum-induced hangover. Not fun.
ermentrude ⋅ November 25, 2014
Awww, kitchens ate the heart of a family :-) x
Zipster ⋅ November 25, 2014
I'll bet your kids have wonderful memories of your kitchen. Something about kitchens, love and sustenance in one place.
Tick Tock Tick ⋅ November 27, 2014
Loved hearing your recollections of your family kitchens. I was waiting to hear about the inspirational cook in your life and it sounds like it was your Grandmother. Thanks for making me think about all this! We had a large eat in kitchen (I wonder, like you, if it would seem large now).
My Grandmother had a long, narrow kitchen and we sat on stools and ate lunch (crackers & cheese) on the wooden cutting boards that pulled out.
Except for her exceptional fresh fruit pies (cherries from her own tree), she was a terrible cook. My Mom was not a lot better then. Pot roasts every Sunday. All that changed later and she was a passionate cook, forever reading cookbooks. For every birthday or holiday I'd ask her only to cook us a meal, which she did!