Recently a picture of a vintage kitchen reminded me of my grandmother’s kitchen. In Gran’s kitchen, a white metal sink with a drainboard was stood next to white wooden cabinets on a painted blue wood floor.
The white painted plywood cabinets with silver metal handles ran along one whole wall with the sink cabinet at the opposite end of the stove and refrigerator. I used to open and close those cabinet doors repeatedly To an adult this was probably annoying, senseless. In my childhood imagination, I was opening car doors and helping passengers come and go in a taxi or a limo.
Imaginary play helping stars step out onto a red carpet event at one set of cabinet doors. The next set of doors would be cars arriving at a swanky hotel, another would find me waving to the airport taxi line. It was a fun way to spend a rainy afternoon.
At the end of my “shift,” more likely, the end of my grandfather’s patience, Papaw would have me get us a cold glass bottle of R.C. out of the refrigerator and replace it with one from the wooden case on the floor beside it. We’d watch some cartoons while Gran made supper. Maybe it was Papaw just getting me out of her way.
Today when I took a break from cleaning the kitchen, I pulled a cold bottle of R.C. out and sat down to watch a soap opera the Gran watched when she was a live. Memories, love ‘em.