Our Tucson house was built in 1969 and we moved into it in 1994. In the fall of 2010 I convinced the Captain to put up with the inconvenience and let me pull money out of my personal savings to remodel the kitchen. Actually, it was the outdoor wood-fired pizza oven that that convinced him, but I was the one who worked it into the budget.
It took several years of longing, a couple years of seriously considering, nearly a year of actual planning and deciding, a couple hundred Facebook posts and only one minor melt-down (and that wasn’t even the day they delivered a toilet seat instead of a faucet), but when it was done I was in love.
We both traveled for our work, and when I was away I used to dream about that one tiny fleck of green in the granite. We would talk every day, but I was picturing him standing at the dual-fuel stove, whipping up his dinner. When I got back from my trips, no matter how late the hour, walking through the door from the garage into the kitchen would make me smile. Because as much as I love the man, when I was away, I really missed that kitchen.
One day that winter I said to John “Aren’t you happy with the new kitchen? Aren’t you glad we did this?” I’ll never forget his response:
“If it were up to me, I would have spent the money on a boat.”
Well, shoot. I guess he’s serious about this boat thing.