The daylight floods my kitchen. The sun sends yellows rays through my blinds that streak across my cabinets, counters, and walls. Coffee is keeping warm in a Chemex on the stove. A pan of gluten-free cake that I made last night sits on the counter. It’s enticing me to come eat it all in one big gulp. The sink is clean with no dishes and only a little bit of soap residue. The dishwasher has a little blue light indicating that the contents are washed and dried, ready to be put away. Poetry magnets are stuck to the side of my fridge and on the front cling photos of the past year — portraits of my brother, my pup saydee, and my Love, a poem, some post cards. There is also a running grocery list, so I don’t forget what I need the next time I make a trip to the store. Succulents sit in the window seal, basking in the glow and thriving even though it’s 32 degrees outside. My pantry is full, stocked with almost all the necessary ingredients to make anything on the fly: bags of flour, sugar (both cane and brown), baking soda, chocolate chips, honey, canned tomatoes, chicken stock, bread, onions and garlic, a handful of different dried pastas, oils and vinegar, chips for snacking, Cheerios for breakfast, peanut butter and jam, marshmallows, an assortment of teas, and a tub of hot cocoa powder. My fridge is fairly stocked with the necessities, too: milk and creamer, orange juice, butter (tons of butter), eggs, carrots and celery, navel oranges, heavy whipping cream, lettuce and baby tomatoes, condiments (ketchup, mustard, and mayo), yogurt, lemon juice, the remnants of a bottle of sauvignon blanc, leftover soup from last night.
I sit here, writing this at my kitchen island. Fresh purple flowers sit in the middle, bringing color and life to my kitchen in mid-winter. A small piece of paper that says “Strong convictions precede great actions” props itself against the base of the vase. It came from the fortune cookie I had on the second day of the new year.
I’m writing in this space where I cook food to feed my family and myself. I’m writing this at the beginning of the new year. My life isn’t perfect, and I am deeply flawed. I learned a lot in the past year, and there is a lot to know ahead of me. Yet I’m here in this space that is somewhat tidy, somewhat lived in, somewhat peaceful — I feel at home.