New to this world of blogging and not exactly sure how to treat it I thought I'd attempt the energy of a kitchen conversation over a 24 hour period. See how that goes...

Kitchens are where so much life transpires. They are vital places in my experience. They're the location for preparing food and often the place where the equally important practice of eating what has been prepared occurs. I've had some of the finest conversations while washing or drying dishes in a kitchen. I've been silent beside another as she cried about the loss of a loved one. I've been called from every other room in the house, from the backyard, from over the phone, to come to the kitchen. I've eaten alone while reading a magazine or book. I've read and left written notes on the kitchen table.

Coming home late from a long trip, having been away a long while, I walked into my kitchen, the light above the stove quietly illuminating the room - more like a street-lamp on a snowy night. The fridge hummed, but there was little other sound. On the kitchen table, leaning against a chipped soup bowl with a pair of rose heads floating in water inside it, was an envelope. On the cover was my name in a left-handed handwriting from someone I loved, and love, very much. Opening the envelope, I pulled out the card from inside. The photograph on the front was a shot of the open prairie in autumn. Wild grasses, a blue and curving world, clouds like the wisp of old man hair. It was beautiful. The note inside, "tried to stay up but was too tired...happy anniversary, honey. Love, L. Then at the bottom of the card was a single word, always. 

Kitchens...