Come on in the kitchen…

Kitchen Buddha

Lord have mercy!  Is that you, Lance?  Set your stuff down and come on in. Ha!  Yeah, I know you said you wanted me to take you in the kitchen next, but lordy mercy, I had no idea you were planning on coming down here yourself.  I’m awful glad you did though.  We’ve got lots to talk about.  Let’s go in the kitchen and get the coffee going and then we can sit down and talk.  I know you’re tired.  How long did it take you to get here?  How about a little whiskey in yours?  Oh, yeah. I remember the whiskey-in-a-mug.  My grandma, my mother’s mother, kept whiskey as medicine. She took some for sinkin’ spells.  You  can wash your hands in the sink.  Buddha?  Oh, I don’t know why I keep him.  He used to sit in the shower at the old house.  My niece gave me Frog.  He was supposed to go in the garden, but I like him in here.  He’s funny.  How long did you say it took you to get here?

Here’s a mug.  If you want a bigger one, there’s a big one right there in the cabinet over the dove bowl.  Yeah, that one.  Oh, good grief, Lance.  You’d say it’s big enough. You’re such a gentleman.  You like Colombian?  I get the medium roast beans. No, crazy man, not THE good CoIombian stuff.  Those were the days, huh?   I drink mine with lots, and I mean lots, of Bailey’s.  Nah, I was lying about the whiskey.  I never did drink sippin’ whiskey in my coffee.

You get the whiskey down outta’ the cabinet and I’ll grind up the beans.  The cabinet over the refrigerator.  You’ll have to get a steppin’ stool outta’ the laundry room.  Yeah, it’s right around there.  I never did drink much whiskey.  I had a bad experience with some bourbon in college.  I couldn’t stand the smell of the stuff for years after that.  There might be some Wild Turkey in the back.  I know there’s a bottle of Jack in there.  Dean used to say, “There ain’t nuthin’ smooth as Jack Black”.  And get down the Bailey’s too.  Thanks.

Did you see Lucia over there?  Of course you would know.  Ah, yes, you’re right. I Promessi Sposi. I can’t remember the Italian.  I can barely remember the English!  I didn’t know the story until I bought Lucia years ago.  I didn’t buy Renzo. I thought he was ugly.  I felt kinda bad about it at the time.  Ha!  How silly.  You know, I think I’m the only person alive who never liked Romeo and Juliet.  Oh, I taught it, but I kind of brushed by it.  I thought the kids ought to know who they were.  Even Boy knows ’em and he’s just in the third grade.  I hope they aren’t the only famous couples he finds out about.  That’d be a shame.

I believe the coffee’s ready.  You can pour your own.  Everybody here fixes his own stuff.  You take cream?  Sugar?  I didn’t think so.  We can sit over there at the table.  Here, let me shove that stuff out of the way.  Do you like The Potter?  I bought him a long time ago from Lafayette Ragsdale.  He’s from somewhere in Tennessee, I think it was.  I’m glad I bought it before he got famous. Would you reach up there and straighten it.  Thanks.  I always felt like a crooked hanging picture was sort of irreverent.  That bothers me.  Irma pays no attention when she dusts so I have to go behind her straightening pictures.  Now.  That’s better.  I always thought that painting looked a little like Jesus or my husband.

Rita!  Stop that!  How many times do I have to tell you.  You’re gonna’ get soap in your mouth.  Go on.  Get away from there.  That’s a good girl.  What was I saying, Lance?  If I don’t watch her, she gets into everything in the kitchen.

You hungry?  We could have some crackers and cream cheese.  With some of my sister’s homemade jalapeno jelly.  That stuff is really good.  Test out the crackers.  I don’t think they’re soft yet.  I just opened them this morning.  Get down, Anabelle!  I told you we’re out of dog biscuits.  See?  The jars are empty.  These girls think they have to get a treat every time I come in here.  You not hungry yet, Lance?  Okay.  Let’s drink our coffee on the porch.  That way, I can smoke while we talk.  I better turn on the porch fan, I guess.  I don’t want to smoke all over you.  Grab those books on the corner if you will, please.  They just came.  I haven’t had a chance to look at them yet.  Robert Frank.  I don’t know anything about him.  I saw The Americans and a book about Peru when I was looking for something else on Amazon.  There’s a sleeve under there with photographs in it. I bet Portfolio is just a fancy name for a handful of photos, don’t you?  Do you know anything about him?

Oh, you saw that!  Yes, it was my mother’s knife.  I had it put in a shadow box that opens on the back so I could take it out and hold it when I felt like it.  She called it a butcherknife.  One word. I don’t believe I ever heard anybody say it like that since she did. Yes, she did use it all the time.  I can still see her standing at the kitchen sink cutting up a chicken or slicing a ham with it.  She used it for everything.  Daddy kept it razor-sharp with his whetrock. That’s what he called it. He’d sharpen it on a grinding wheel in the basement and finish it up with the whetrock. I watched him do it, but I never could. He kept telling me I was making it duller the way I was holding it.  He said a dull knife would cut you quicker than a sharp knife.  He said not to put a knife in hot water. Daddy was always fussing about how Your Momma could dull a knife faster than anybody he ever saw.  She’d be embarrassed if she knew I put that old butcherknife in a fancy box.  I don’t think she’d get it.  She was not the nostalgic kind when it came to “the good old days”.  To say the least.

Oh, Lord.  I’ve done all the talking.  Let’s go on out to the porch. You have to tell me all about your trip and what you’ve been painting and doing lately.  Remind me to show you my old Delft plaque when we go back inside.  It’s just so good to see you, Lance!   One of these days, I’m gonna’ take you up on that offer.  Yep, drink us some good ole sippin’ whiskey in a mug.  If I ever get up to your place.

35 Comments on “Come on in the kitchen…

  1. Now it really does feel like I’m visiting with aunt…after the tour of the kitchen and cupboards…a social place, but intimate, too. Thank you, George. 🙂

    Like

  2. How very delightful.
    And how very late I am in arriving! Had guests you see. Guests, Marha–guests (to quote Albee).
    Love all your many comment-worthy items, and espeically that grand painting and Lucia and your mother’s favourite knife.
    My my.
    When my own mother departed, I was asked what I wanted, and claimed her little well-worn black leather change purse and what we always called the button box.
    So many memories, lovingly displayed for my feasting eyes.

    I do apologize for being AWOL. I was entertaining all weekend and only now got the opportunity.
    Thank you for your nostalgic generosity. And now, let’s get to the CC and have a whiskey sour!

    Like

    • Are there any other kind? Especially relatives who stay longer than an hour! Ha! “Martha Guests”! You are too clever. I had forgotten.

      You must tell us about your mother and the purse! My husband’s grandmother kept silver dollars in one of those. One was minted in the year of her birth.

      Like

      • Thank you again for including me in this post.
        My mother’s coin purse was something like your mother’s favourite knife–something I always recalled her using; something characteristic and familiar–better than fancier things, I suppose, because she touched it and held it. I know having a silver dollar of the year of her birth would have been something she’d have cherished. The ‘button box’ was really an old chocolate bon-bon tin in which there were many dozens of buttons as well as little keepsakes and curiosities. We resorted to rummaging through it as children whenever it was raining, or inclement.
        I love how you’ve framed her knife and kept it in a box–I keep my father’s penknife in my pocket most times.

        Like

        • Ah, Lance, how we take comfort in the “ordinary” things that were part of our parents’ lives. I have my dad’s pocket knife too. And I swear I do not have a sentimental bone in my body.

          Like

          • Strange that you say that. Why, do you suppose. Is sentimentality a genetic trait? I don’t care much for sentimentality… and yet I find it in me from time to time. I too have my father’s pocket knife… I think I care for it more than I cared for my father. It was made with a bone handle, because this was before they had plastic handles. A swiss army pocket knife, with a bone handle. I keep it in a drawer… the drawer that it is closest to me.

            Like

    • Anonymous, give the purchase of a double-yellowhead Amazon serious consideration. You could lose a limb to the education you’d get. Ha Ha. She is a sweetheart…albeit with an opinion of her own! Thanks for stopping by.

      Like

  3. Love this, George! Especially the cream cheese with jalapeno jelly on crackers, one of my favorite snacks… have some in the fridge right now. I wonder if that’s a Southern thing (smile). And I love that you put your mother’s knife in a shadowbox. And of course, the buddha. I have little red stone buddha that sits on top of my “chesterdrawers”. 🙂

    Like

    • Ha Ha Ha! “chesterdrawers”! I haven’t heard that word for so many years, I had forgotten it. What a word. Thanks for reminding me. I’m smiling all over my face! I’d be willing to bet that no writer could use that one without a footnote now. I can imagine a reader thinking, “Putting WHAT in Chester’s drawers?”

      I think the jelly must be a Texas thing? They make mesquite jelly too. I don’t recall having seen jalapeno peppers growing up. We had long, green hot peppers and banana peppers. Maybe my experience was simply provincial? My office manager gave me a fat little red Buddha years ago. He is till sitting on my abandoned desk at the office. I need to fetch him home. I have a large concrete Buddha in the garden. We have an odd fascination with them considering that few of us are Buddhists.

      Like

  4. enjoyed the visit. i’ll bring some kahlua next time! got some peppermint mocha left over from last chrismas and it’ll warm you right up… oh, and is it wrong that i find mysel flusting after your faucet?

    Like

    • Ha Ha! Lusting after the faucet, are you? I tell you how I got those tall faucets. It was not my idea. A guy who works for us suggested one at the old house. He was replacing a regular broken one. He cooks. He said I ought to have a tall one so Dean could wash his big crawfish boiling pots. That was before I ever saw them. I think most new house faucets are tall, aren’t they? Get one and install it yourself. Don’t forget the thin, narrow plumbers tape to wrap the screw-turned end of the thing so it doesn’t leak! Kahlua is great tasting coffee. I used to buy the beans, but I can’t find good ones now. Bring it along!

      Like

  5. I loved this post so much dear George. I love to read you… Your kitchen seems so nice and so enjoyable…. I wished to visit there 🙂 Rita, fascinated me. By the way I should add this too, (and everytime) you captured so beautiful and amazing photographs… You are almost a library to read… I can never get bored to read you. Thank you, have a nice sunday, Blessing and happiness for you all, with my love, nia

    Like

    • Thank you, Nia. I know my photographs are technically a mess. I have a tremor in my right hand, but I use VR lenses and hope for the best. I post them anyway although I know they are out of focus half the time. I don’t care. I know you guys will understand what I am trying to say. I love to photograph my pets and all kinds of things. I am happy not to be a photographer. That is so hard. I know just enough to press auto and snap. That’s good. Ha Ha. I’m happy you like to visit and like my folksy stories. Bless you, beautiful Nia!

      Like

    • Thanks, Ana. Not awesome. Just me. That’s the way I talk….You’d laugh at my southern accent. Did I tell you that it’s impossible for me to say, “Get them from the counter”? I say, “Get ’em from the counter”. I can say “them” in some constructions, but not in most. I sound exactly like the quintessential southern sheriff. It’s just awful. 🙂

      Like

      • Nothing wrong with that. What I enjoy reading you is that you are just yourself; no apologies for that! But the way, English is my second language so I need to review and correct my spelling all the time before posting (that is something that not happen in my first language, it comes naturally for me, ha!)

        Like

        • Ana, the way you phrase things is absolutely charming. Don’t change a thing about how you write. It’s you. I like that.

          Like

  6. An excellent post – a delightful narrative that reveals not just the place, but the person who lives there. Wouldn’t want to see my computer/library room. My wife shakes her head/fist when she has to access the printer. 🙂

    Like

    • I’m shameless, you know. I just walked in there and snapped. That trash bag on the pantry door is my new arch nemesis. The city delivered recycling bins to all of the houses. Now, I feel guilty if I don’t rinse out my plastic coffee cups and collect them. There are RULES about it too. Can you believe you have to tear apart cardboard boxes before you put them in that thing? Now, I drew the line there. They can take the whole box or nothing!

      Like

      • I know what you mean. When we got my son into his apartment in the fall he had cardboard boxes out the wahzoozoo. We had to rip them up to put them in the outside storage bins. What amazes me about the business of recycling is how the consumer pays multiple times. First you pay for the packaging when you buy the product.Then the city/municipality must pay a company to haul the stuff away, which means the general consumer now pays again in taxes. The haulers then sell the stuff or re-process and sells that back to another company, who use it to make more packaging. I don’t mind recycling to help society and the environment, but somehow the money doesn’t get recycled back to me in a noticeable way, only to the companies. I’m an oldish Canadian, what do I know.

        Like

        • I think you pretty much nailed how I feel about it too! I’m an older than oldish American. What do I know? 🙂 Maybe if I agree with you, we’ll both be wrong, but I don’t care!

          Like

  7. Me first, Lance! I’d love a hot tea with Amaretto please. While you’re busy I’m going to wander around and marvel at your favorite things…

    Like

    • Well, there’s a teapot on the stove just waiting for you! I don’t know why I leave a teapot on the stove. (It’s a gas range…I think they call it now!) I don’t drink much tea. I’d make it for you though. Amaretto. That’s something I haven’t thought about in years. If you’ll come, I’ll buy a bottle again.

      Like

        • Good. I always keep a couple of bottles of Bailey’s. Did you know they make a “diet” version of it? Well, they do. I really laughed about that. So did the guy at the liquor store when he showed it to me! 🙂

          Like

  8. I think I’ll stop by for a drink WITHOUT the coffee!! I thought this was really good. Thanks!

    Like

    • I started to tell the story about you and Deano trying to out-drink each other that time at the beach! Now that was funny. Do you remember that? I forgot to say “The Scotch is for my sister!”

      Like

  9. Oh, this is a beautiful introduction to your kitchen, and I’m hoping… that we get some of the other side of the meeting from Lance himself. How I enjoyed the frog and the Buddha… and Rita trying to open the water by herself… and everything about your kitchen seems just right; certainly the bottles of whisky and the Jack Daniels in the closet… The only problem seems to be that you have to go out to the porch to have a smoke. Now if you had weather like we’re having here… that would be close to torture. But I suppose Lance might be uncomfortable about breathing smoke. I hope you don’t always go out to the porch to have a smoke… Lucia is beautiful, and the potter looks like one of my friends for sure. You say he looks like your husband… ah, that’s fine. And the cookie jar reminds me of one my old friend Bert used to have… got it from his mother before she died… Thank you for letting us have a glimpse. It sure looks like a perfect place.

    Like

    • I like it here, Shimon. Dean and I really didn’t want to move from our old house. We kept it for over a year before a friend of my son-in-law wanted to buy it. Dean kept saying he hated the new leather furniture and wanted to go back to his house. We finally accustomed ourselves to the new house. I don’t use half the house. The doors to those bedrooms and two bathrooms are only opened when Irma cleans.
      I posted this before I edited it. Not a good idea, huh?
      Thanks for dropping in.

      Like

Comments

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: