03/29/2025
Cold days, filled with warm memories...
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The Kitchen Dance
Some things in life are constant, like the rhythm of a well-rehearsed dance.
Every other Saturday, I visited my grandparents, and without fail, the same ritual unfolded. Their kitchen wasn’t just a place for meals—it was a workspace, a gathering place, the heart of their home. At its center stood a large wooden harvest table, surrounded by six vinyl-covered chairs, with a foot-operated Singer sewing machine at the head of the table.
In the mornings, the table belonged to my grandfather.
He would spread out fabric, smoothing it before bringing out his tailor’s shears—large, heavy, and worn from years of use. I loved the sound they made, gliding across the wood, slicing through fabric with effortless precision. Once the cutting was done, he moved to the sewing machine, stitching each piece meticulously together, and humming quietly along with the rhythm of the sewing machine while he worked.
Then, like clockwork, the dance would shift.
By afternoon, my grandmother took over, replacing suit fabrics with delicate sheets of strudel dough. She worked swiftly, making at least a half dozen strudels in four flavors—sour cherry was always my favorite. By evening, the kitchen transformed again, the table now surrounded by our small family of four or five, plus one or two family friends who had dropped by just before dinner. My grandmother always made sure no one left empty-handed, wrapping up leftovers in foil packages and slabs of strudel dusted in powdered sugar.
I still have my grandfather’s shears. As a child, I could barely lift them. Now, they sit with me—a tangible link to those Saturdays, to the kitchen dance, and to the great memories I'm lucky to have of my grandparents and their house.
Artifacts don’t need to be in museums to hold meaning. Sometimes they're hiding in plain sight, closer than you think, tucked away on a shelf or in a closet-- have a look-see, and like and share your favorite artifact in the comments. I'd love to hear from you.
