Julie Carter
It had been more than 35 years since I first saw it and yet when I looked through the doorway, I could see that nothing of consequence had changed.
The kitchen, lit by a single window over the old single basin sink, stood exactly as it had when I took my first baby girl to spend the day with her grandma.
The same as when, a couple of decades later, that baby girl took her baby to spend the day with his great-grandma.
Look around your life and see what, if anything, has not changed in appearance in 35 years and you can honestly say, "It looks exactly the same."
I absolutely cannot look in the mirror and say that. Sure can't point to the pickup and say that. I have owned about, oh, six or seven since then.
The house - I can't even begin there because I've moved at least a dozen times. Good horses and dogs have come and gone. So have the bad ones.
Fresh paint, a new curtain and new floor tile. That was all that was different in her kitchen. Except, in the interim, they invented microwaves so there was one of those and the old wall rotary dial phone was gone.
The table sat where it always was and the center of it, as before, was filled with napkins, condiments, a silverware holder and an assortment of other things deemed important enough to just stay there.
The old bright white wood cabinets filled the east wall broken only by the sink in the middle. The sink with it's signature Rubbermaid dishpan inside and no cabinet below it, so a curtain covered up those things you put under a sink.
The cabinets went up the wall all the way to meet the 10-foot ceiling and the top row of cupboards could be accessed only by standing on a stool. The very limited counter space was always full of canisters, a bread box, dish drainer, percolator coffee pot and assorted packages of cookies and crackers.
Knick knacks, a corkboard full of keys, a big calendar and grandma-kind of decorations filled the walls.
In any kitchen except Grandma's, it would have been clutter. In her's, it was personality, warmth and comfort.
It was her favorite room and she liked it the very best when it was filled full with family members of all ages and generations laughing, talking and telling stories. Stories like the one about how the refrigerator got a bullet hole in it.
As each generation of grandmas passes on, the matriarchal crown moves a little closer to home.
My mom is a wonderful grandma who has many special things she has shared with her grandchildren. They will each have a little different piece of her in their hearts forever.
When the rolling pin passes, it makes us all put on life's brakes, look around and reflect.
We take just a moment to ponder what legacy we are leaving for those coming behind in our tracks.
Aprons, cookies, hugs and plenty of sympathy. Good smells from the stovetop, bushels of apples to be made into jam, jars of canned fruits and vegetables.
Perhaps mine, or yours, may not look and smell the same as the generations before us.
However, there is something about grandmas that makes each one special to those who love them.
Thank God for grandmas. They keep us grounded in what really counts. Pass the cookies, please.
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