The kids and I spent some time today sitting in the kitchen, Grandma’s kitchen, and visiting while I folded laundry. I talked about how the room used to be set up when I was a kid and we would come over for a visit. I love that my childhood memories and their childhood memories, and the childhood memories of my uncle and aunt are all held in that room.
I loved it when we would have supper at my grandparents’ house – always roast beef, mashed potatoes, and whatever vegetable. Then something yummy for dessert – homemade canned cherries, or pie, or ice cream – always so good.
But the best part of the suppers was always that when we sat down Grandma would open the oven and set out warm plates for each of us.
It took me years to fully understand why it was the warm plates that I loved so much. I mean, sure they keep your food the right temperature, but more importantly it was one extra act of love.
It takes a great deal of thought and love to cook a whole meal for a family, so to take the extra step and put plates in the oven for us so we could have a little extra bit of comfort? That was an extra dose of love put right into our meal.
The outside world can be hard, home should always be your soft place to land. That is what that kitchen holds for me. I am very grateful for that.