I’ve Reconnected with My Kitchen
Yes, you can connect with rooms. In fact, they make amazing companions, and they have a lot of answers. My kitchen is the place I cook, write, speak with friends and family, laugh with family, hug my husband at least twice daily, and listen to my children talk about their school day. It’s also the place where my ancestors find me in the quietest of moments. (Italian women are all inherently connected to the other side, trust me; though I guess any culture can claim the same) Food is love for Italians and with the crackle and caramelizing of an onion—memories of those who have passed are summoned.
I decided to make peace with my kitchen again. I lost her love for a while.
I stopped entertaining for a good six months because I was tired of being one of the only women left in my circles who likes cooking and hosting for friends (or so it feels that way). I broke the curse by inviting an amazing family and their children over for dinner recently. We re-baptized the kitchen. It was lovely. My kitchen thanked me. I could feel it. I’m getting my mojo back, but if you’re reading this don’t get too excited. As a practice in self care I vow to only invite those who also invite. I’m too old for one-sided entertaining.
Since re-acquainting myself with the joy of my wooden cutting boards, fruit bowls, and salts, my writing has also improved. I pulled out an old manuscript and gave it a makeover..well, I’m giving it a makeover. Not done yet. I light candles now and set intentions. I play music all day like my mom did when I was a kid. I send love out to all through my kitchen and the parsley in the mason jar by my sink. I don’t worry about it being perfectly clean (that’s one thing I don’t have in common with the women in my family). My kitchen is very clean, but their kitchens are surgery-level sterile. That’s no fun. I admire their ambition though.
How does one reconnect with a room, you ask? I think it’s personal for every person and every room. For me, I keep items in my kitchen that belonged to other women in my family. As I wipe my countertops and sauté garlic in oil, I think about my grandmothers and my aunts. As I cut up fruit for my girls every morning and afternoon, I think about how my mom did the same. As I sweep I throw some salt to cleanse the air and sweep it out the front door.
I urge you to pick your favorite room and show her some love. Show her you love her by giving her a voice. No, I’m not on drugs. Yes, I am inspired!
I must give much of the credit to a book I’ve been reading lately called Italian Folk Magic by Mary-Grace Fahrun. Her book triggered this whole thing. Thank you for making me remember.