Around the Kitchen Table: The unexpected solace in sameness
There is a drawer in my kitchen that makes the most awful noise every time it’s opened. I live in a plainly built house, one constructed long before the regular use of drawer runners and fancy systems. My drawers are simple, wooden, the kind you pull out – but not too far or they will drop down, or worse, end up on your toe.
When we moved into this house in 1979, there were several things that needed attention: a sticking bedroom door, a loose floorboard and the screeching drawer. Somehow, we got busy living and became used to those things. We would fuss about the door we had to yank open, the creak the loose board made, but it took us years to finally give them the attention they needed. By that time we had three children, several cats and a collection of dogs, chickens and other critters. Life was busier than ever. We never got around to the complaining drawer.
Gradually the offending drawer became a family joke; “Lift up on it!” rang out every time someone made it squawk, usually accompanied by a smile or a chuckle. That loud drawer became a part of our daily life in a bothersome yet beloved way.
Reflecting on my own childhood, I remember how many things stayed the same over the years: the golden brown paneling, the original black forged hardware Dad installed in 1954, along with the dark green rubber flooring Mom ordered from Sears & Roebuck that same year and the deep white porcelain double-sink pitted from decades of use.
There is a type of comfort in sameness, a sense of being “in place” where you feel you belong. I treasure the things that are still there even though Mom and Dad are now gone – my granny’s ceramic cat cookie jar on top of the fridge and looking down at it from the wall above, the big “pocket watch” clock that has kept time for our family over seven decades. There’s the multi-paned window by Mom and Dad’s kitchen table that bathed our breakfasts with morning light all those years.
Memories flood my mind as I reflect on what anchors me in times of trouble. It makes me appreciate the fact that some things do remain the same, even when the world around me feels out of control.
At my paternal grandmother’s house, Ma kept a drug store calendar on the wall next to the door that led to her tiny bedroom. A Farmer’s Almanac hung from a loop of twine next to her wall phone. My great-grandmother’s wooden coffee grinder and a Jesus plaque made out of toothpicks adorned the narrow shelf above her refrigerator. Although I can only visit her kitchen in my memories, those vivid images are reflected in my own space today. Like my grandmother, I keep my Farmer’s Almanac on a loop of twine on my kitchen wall; the coffee grinder and the toothpick Jesus have a place on one of my shelves; and like my own childhood home, I have kept the same clock in the same place on the kitchen wall since we moved in.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against change. Sometimes it’s necessary, even healthy, but change born out of trying to “keep up appearances” may sometimes leave us empty and dissatisfied without understanding why. I love trying new things – new recipes, books, different art mediums and traveling to new places. I’m not an advocate of sameness for safety’s sake, but I do value the comfort and reassurance that sameness brings to our lives sometimes, especially when life gets difficult.
Years ago, when my youngest daughter came home from college for the holidays, I began to see the importance of “little things” that remain the same. On her first day home, I was cooking and asked her to get a spoon out of the drawer. Before she opened it, I said apologetically, “I’ve been meaning to fix that…” She said, “Oh, Mom! Don’t fix it, I love that drawer!”
As she pulled it open, a long satisfying screech emitted from it, as if to say, “See! Somebody appreciates me!”
She retrieved the utensil, shut the drawer and turned to hand me the spoon. “Mom, please promise me you won’t ever fix that drawer. It sounds like home.” You never know what is of importance to another person. An annoyance to you may be a comfort to someone else.
Recently, I had to redo my kitchen and dining area (not by choice). We had a huge leak and ended up having to take out the entire ceiling, put new insulation in and repair some woodwork. It was a mess. I considered doing something different, but I like my kitchen and the colors I painted it back in 2004 (my only upgrade since 1979), so I went with the same colors, decluttered some of the shelves and called it good.
My brother, a professional painter, and my sisters, not too shabby themselves, all helped me do the finish work on the kitchen and dining area. When my brother was working on the drawers, he came to the screecher. He grimaced as he pulled it out. “Do you want me to fix this? It sounds terrible.”
I smiled and shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll keep it the way it is.”
The week after we finished the redo, my youngest daughter, now grown and married with three children, stopped by to see my restored kitchen. She looked around and noted, “It looks the same … cleaner, brighter, but the same.” I nodded. She walked over to the loud drawer, pulled it out, the old familiar squawk accompanying it. She looked at me and smiled. “I’m glad you left it the way it was.”
Me too.
by Tamra M. Bolton
