My Kitchen...

My kitchen looks nothing like this kitchen of old--although long ago I'm sure it did. The green swirly-topped table, where the lady of the house rolled out her bread dough and tipped open the tin-lined drawers, rotted away long ago. I found it in the back of the old garage. It fell to pieces there, leaving only the tilted drawers and the heavy marble-like surface. It is now the top of the desk in my office, which must have been her fancy parlor room.

The old wood stove sits in our glass-enclosed entryway just outside the kitchen. It has all the working parts inside--someday it is my dream to incorporate that old stove into our kitchen. It is a large open room. Ancient glassed doors still hang over the old cupboards, and there is an air of the past which sometimes wafts through. 
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I have a photo of our house when it was first built by a steam-boat captain. The lady who once lived here stands beside our house in her elegant dark dress. I wonder a lot about her. The woman who once rolled bread dough upon this lovely leaf-green, marble-like substance would be amazed by my world. But the truth is, I would be equally astonished by hers.