Loving a Kitchen in Hurricane Country

When people see my kitchen, or when they hear that the kitchen is finally finished, they often say, "Don't you just love it?"  I usually just say, "Yes"--because who has time to hear the whole truth?  The simple version of the whole truth--it's complicated.

Yesterday we had a family gathering:  my spouse's brother and his wife came up from Homestead, and the daughter of their sister came over with her significant other.  We grilled a big fillet of salmon, and I had made a pot of Mexican beans in case anyone was vegan.  I also had made a quiche for breakfast, which I put out.  It was all very tasty--and I haven't even described dessert or the experiments with pina coladas.

As I loaded the dishwasher for the final time last night, I thought about how this new kitchen makes entertaining a larger group easier--the refrigerator makes all the ice we need, while the dishwasher makes the clean up easier.  But do I love the kitchen?

Yes, in some ways, significant ways.  But in other ways, I look at it and remember the frustrations, the delays, the endless discussions over various choices and the searching for the perfect elements that made the renovations seem endless.

And there's also that dread, with hurricane season just around the corner, that we might just have to do it all over again.  But I remember the renovation of 2003, in a different house, that survived the hurricane seasons of 2004 and 2005.

I think of all the friends I've had through the years who have come through a house renovation triggered by hurricane losses, and how many of them have left because they just couldn't face the thought of doing it all over again.  When future scholars explore the issue of migration and immigration, I wonder if that root cause will be evident?