We are in the middle of kitchen renovations at the moment. Watching the substance that made up our old kitchen torn apart and carted away has been strange. For so many years things are there, stationary, and then in a few days they are gone. And suddenly you see what has been hiding behind the walls all this time. Newspaper lined walls redolent of 100 years ago and big pink roses you can almost smell.
Our little kitchen set up on the deck is working quite well, with the only drawback being the lack of an oven. Which for me is rather a tragedy. I can't bake! I keep saying and thinking 'if only I had an oven I could make...'. But I am trying to console myself with the fact that I can still make ice cream. Last night we celebrated the arrival of Dad's cousin from America. With our whole family here (including James our cousin from Aussie) we ate and talked as the rain poured down on the tarpaulin. Robyn is lovely and it has been so interesting getting to know her. We keep noticing all the little similarities to Dad. Of course we ate homemade vanilla ice cream with berry sauce. And for a while I didn't miss the oven at all.
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