Day 270: On the Corner of C and S Part 3

   The little card table that Ruth had set up in the kitchen to conduct the sale of the house was replaced with an oval wooden table and six wooden chairs.  Blue checked café curtains with tiny red roses concealed the bay window, now showcasing Momma’s bunny-shaped tea pots, from curious eyes.  Somehow, my mom managed to fill the cabinets with Tupperware, Pampered Chef, and multiple sets of dishes.  My great grandmother’s china cabinet leaned against the wall leading into the den.  Down the backdoor hallway stood a short white plastic bookshelf holding Momma’s recipe box and cookbook collection.

   The skinny wall that led into the front room became our growth chart.  We watched the tick marks creep up the wall.  Eventually my younger brother Neal shot above me, my little sister Kaitlyn grew to my shoulders, and my height reached a plateau where I was lucky I’d grow a quarter inch.

     The kitchen was spacious enough to hold the kitchen table and still have plenty of room to accommodate other boxes or pieces of furniture.  For example, one time, we set a tall moving next to the table so we could contain our first pets.  Originally, Momma had intended on us picking out only one kitten that the farmer was giving away, but I felt each one if us needed a kitten.  Momma kept them in the box while we finished our homework until we could keep an eye on them.  It was hard to concentrate with tiny mewing and thumps coming from them scrabbling out of the box.  Eventually, we couldn’t stand it anymore, and we let them out to play.

     The open room also became the station for rummaging through the seasonal boxes that Daddy would bring in from the garage.  The end of summer dragged in the fall and winter clothes, when I would sorrowfully pack my summer clothes away and see which clothes were now outdated or  hand-me-downs for Kaitlyn.  On Thanksgiving, we’d eagerly unpack the Christmas videos and lay the decorations wrapped in paper towels onto the table.

      We prepared five Thanksgiving feasts in that kitchen.  Daddy would pull out the neck and gizzard and toss them out the front door to the barn cats, our fuzzy garbage disposals who lingered by the door for that very purpose.  While he prepared the turkey for the oven, Momma rolled out the pie crusts at the table.  Kaitlyn and I peeled the apples and watched her pour the glistening cinnamon mixture into the pan.  Later, Neal helped Daddy peel potatoes while I washed some dishes.  I remember one year it was so cold- eighteen degrees- that we moved around constantly to keep warm.  Outside, it was already dark with a layer of snow on the ground.   With the aroma of roasted turkey, thyme, and rosemary in the air, I couldn’t wait until it was time to eat, but we still shivered in our dress clothes while we ate our meal.