Who's up for some nostalgia?

I had to practice descriptive writing in one of my classes the other day and we had to write about a kitchen. Any kitchen. So I wrote about my parents'/my childhood kitchen. Here goes.


The granite countertops are black swirled with yellow, a fancy stone that is the product of a homeowner who owns a granite business. He put them in himself, no sweat for the handyman. They’re durable, like the family that uses them, able to hold the weight of a person or resist the blade of a knife. They wrap around three sides of the kitchen and in the smack dab center, under the windows to the backyard, is the sink. Split in two, one side has an absurdly loud disposal and the other just a drain. There is a broken hot water nozzle that petered out after serving hundreds of cups of instant coffee. The two levels of cabinets are white, brighter white in spots that have been chipped and then painted over with a fresh coat. They make a very distinct sound when they are closed that can be recognized from any corner of the six bedroom house, the noise that has been known to announce breakfast. At the top of the cup cabinet are the glasses painted with butterflies and birds, the ones that are saved for company. In one corner, a worn out air vent lies pathetically, the swirled design of the cover pressed inward from the many winter mornings when the daughters would stand on it’s warmth while they ate breakfast before school. The walk-in pantry sits to the left of the new refrigerator along the wall without granite. The pantry smells like dog food and is filled with canned foods, dog treats and Easter baskets. This is where the vegetable oil and the Pam reside, useful knowledge if you get the urge to make brownies. If you walk into the pantry, be ready for the black lab and probably the neighbor’s Jack Russell to follow at your heels, eagerly awaiting a dropped treat. The two dogs growl and play with each other, their feet sliding on the hard wood floors. The floors are tired though, and have learned to expect the harsh daily use. They’ve been walked on by hundreds of people, tens of dogs, and have delighted in 15 years worth of after-dinner father-daughter waltzes. The kitchen is worn, but it feels like home.