March 10, 2010

The Kitchen Sink


*H2O, originally uploaded by *6261.
I stood at the kitchen sink looking out into the night at the neighbor’s house and the tiny string of Christmas lights that glittered around the edge of the window. I plunged my hand into the warm soapy water fishing around for the dishcloth.

In this particular place, this very ordinary place, I felt a sense of awe and comfort. No matter how flustered or confused or lost I’d been over the past few years, in the kitchen, I felt peace. Cooking for my children reconnected me to them. The ritual of dinner at the dining room table brought us together after our week apart, and after they were in bed, tucked in and kissed goodnight, I washed the dishes.

The kitchen sink is a mother’s alter.

The children were with me tonight. It was again, finally, my weekend. They were each asleep, in their own beds, in our own new house that Kevin had bought for us. And I was cleaning up the kitchen and doing dishes. The warm lingering smell of roasted chicken and garlic mashed potatoes hung in the air as I rinsed the last few dishes and swirled my hand around in water, a thin delicate film of soap bubbles skimming the surface.

I washed the backsplash and polished the faucet with the dishcloth, silently thanking God for bringing me here. Touching the sink, reverently outlining it with clean soap, I thought about how tonight was a long way from my old sink, my old kitchen, in my old house.

Again the thought of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz came to mind.
A woman who was swept up by a hurricane and brought into a new life. Everything changed for her, from the mundane black and white landscape of Kansas to the colorful and rich world of Oz.

                                                              She even found better shoes.



~an excerpt from a project I've been working on.

1 comment:

  1. Lovely. You never cease to throw me into a whole new world and delight my mind with your gorgeous prose. ~JF

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