When I woke up today I found myself lying in the bed that I had been sleeping in for over ten years. I was slightly irritated, disorientated, not entirely sure of where I was. Until I looked up and over my feet. I spotted the window on the other side of the room, the window that - from where I was then situated - showed nothing but the sky. It was grey this morning.
After I got up I dragged my lazy physique to the bathroom, where I washed up and took a long look in the mirror. Sigh, a depressing sight. And then downstairs into the kitchen. The kitchen is, and this probably applies to most families, I reckon, where a lot of interaction takes place, where the members gather and share not only meals, but also stories and news.
But not in our family. In our family the kitchen is for everyone's individual nutricial needs, such as coffee in the morning or snacks in the evening. I mean, of course we gather, just like any other family, but first of all not so frequently anymore, perhaps a couple of times a year, and second of all not in the kitchen. There's nothing wrong with, but for some reason we don't hang out in there.
In our home the kitchen is not a place of busy hands chopping stuff, not a place of porcelain plates and silverware. It's an area of humming sounds and peaceful quiet. No traffic concerto, no people yelling, no crazy noise. Instead, the sleeping sound of a fridge. This morning it was just my thoughts and a cup of coffee. That's why I love the early hours of a day at home.
No comments:
Post a Comment