In praise of real dishes

If I wanted to, I could figure out when the big kitchen/bathroom renovation began. I don’t want to. Not at all. We’ll just say it’s been a long time and leave it at that. During this long time, we’ve lived with a temporary kitchen set-up in my dining room while the “real kitchen” (as the kids call it) basically became Alan’s workshop. There have been some inconveniences to this arrangement, but none so difficult as the lack of a kitchen sink (or any other plumbing downstairs). The rest of it, I can deal with. I find a recipe I’d like to try, but it’s just not possible without a full sized oven – as opposed to the toaster oven we’ve been using – okay, we’ll have something else. I need the use of two burners, but I only have one? I’ll make things in succession instead of concurrently and use the slow cooker to help keep the first thing warm. I’m pretty adaptable. But dragging dishes upstairs to be washed in the bathtub and then back down? Running upstairs anytime you need water for a cleanup or even to make a cup of tea? Oy vey iz mir!

But look! My Valentine’s Day present! A working kitchen sink in my (getting so very close to done) REAL kitchen!

IMG_4596I know this could possibly come across as sarcasm, but I was really, really genuinely happy. Now, if you ask Alan, he’ll tell you that this is all part of his elaborate plan. Buy a rundown house with potential (always beware the word potential), and renovate it slowly, taking away all the conveniences of modern life long enough for me to get used to doing without them… Then buy a boat! Amazingly, the little galley on the boat seems wonderful! Also, our house had ZERO closets when we bought it. Zero. Connection to storage situations on the boat? Hm….

At any rate, we’d been using a lot of paper dishware for convenience during the dark, sink-less days. Today, I finally had a chance to dig our our real dishware from it’s hiding place in the attic. Hallelujah! What a wonderful thing real dishes are. They make me feel so civilized. There was a bit of a mystery, though. I couldn’t find our glasses, anywhere. There are boxes of kitchen things that got packed up, waiting for the day when I had a real kitchen with cabinets to store them in again, and I’m sure the glasses were among them, but that box must have somehow gotten put in a separate location than all the other kitchen boxes. I did, however, find a treasure. I had forgotten that at some point I was given my grandparents’ “H glasses,” as I always called them. They just got packed away with the rest of my kitchen goods – until now.

IMG_4627My grandparents’ surname begins with ‘H’, and as it happened they had only daughters, and among all their progeny so far, I’m the only one to end up with an ‘H’ name. Good thing, because I loved those glasses and I probably would have wanted them even if that wasn’t the case. I remember using these glasses at the *special* dinners at their little house: somebody’s birthday or some other little occasion to celebrate. It was such a treat to get them out tonight and celebrate the return of real, solid dishes to our dining experiences.

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