The other day I went to drop off some of my son's old clothes at a friend's house. She has two younger boys, and I figured the jackets and sweatpants could be worn by at least one if not both of them. As I dropped the stuff off, she invited me in for tea.
I've been in her house before, but never sat down in her kitchen. It was on the small side, had old appliances, yellow countertops and a red backsplash. No granite, no stainless steel. The yellow and red are not garish, but remind me of daffodils and strawberries, lemons and cherries. Every horizontal surface was covered, except for the formica covered kitchen table which was clean and clear. Even the stove was covered--the glass cooktop was stacked with brownies and shortbread cookies from Metropolitan Market. Behind my chair was a hutch that looked about a hundred years old that looked like it came from a farm house. Stacked on its shelves were mismatched china cups and plates. There was a shelf near the ceiling* was lined with glass and crystal bowls and pitchers. Next to the hutch were more shelves, with bins for each of her three kids artwork, art supplies and homework. Her new dog--a puppy who weighs about fifty pounds--would bound in and out, resting its giant forelegs and head on my lap.
It was the best kitchen I have ever sat in.
I ponder this because another friend of mine is selling her house and she sent out the listing to people she knows. Her family has moved into their new home, and the old house is staged. Everything personal has been removed and replaced with showroom furniture and accessories. The house looked beautiful. Yet, if I had to choose a kitchen, I would have picked Maggie's. If she ever needs to sell her house, I would almost recommend leaving her kitchen as is. A realtor might say her kitchen is cluttered and dated, and that everything personal should be removed. They might be right. People are looking to buy a house they can imagine living in. Yet, this is what I liked about her home: I could imagine living there.
Her kitchen is the heart of her busy home. You can walk into it and see what her family is about. Maggie collects odd pieces of china and bowls. She has space for her kids homework and art. Dessert is an important part of the family meal. Annual classroom photographs are squeezed into every surface that can hold a magnet, including the door of the oven. It all screams that she lives a rich, full and busy life.
I like her kitchen because I find it liberating. It washed away any notions of what magazines tell us our kitchens should look like. Now, I am all in favor of having professional advice when it comes to redesigning a major space. I had a friend who studied interior design and she helped me pick paint colors for my house in St. Louis. Very helpful. Yet, designers can't tell you what you like. They can't tell you to collect teacups and saucers, or the importance of sharing your children's artwork.
I remember reading an essay about imperfect homes. I think it was written by Erma Bombeck. She said if you don't invite people to your house because it is not perfect, you will never have people over. She said it is better to have guests than to sit home alone. I agree, and will take it a step further -- better to have a house that reflects your life, rather than your life fitting your house.
* I know there is a formal name for this, but it escapes me.
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