Another Chapter

Once upon a time, and now so very long ago, I lived in a big house.

Well, perhaps I am exaggerating a bit. The cape cod was large but only by my standards. Most likely I viewed it that way because it was the only house we ever owned. Before moving into the white cape cod with the black shutters and dormer windows, we lived in apartments.

For weeks after we moved into our new home, I could not contain my joy. The white house perched on the corner had two walk in closets, as well as four bedrooms and two bathrooms. There were five additional closets, as well as a finished basement and screened brick patio. I walked around each room savoring the space for a week or two. Then ultimately I took it for granted.

Unfortunately, I did that about too many other things in those rapidly passing days of youth, love and frenzy. However, that’s another story; perhaps for another time.

Our young family gradually expanded from four to six, all extremely lively occupants, Within a short period of time, I learned that green lawns had to be watered, and flowering shrubs trimmed. I also learned that youngsters (and husbands) expected to eat; three times daily as a matter of fact.

Feeding a growing family was an additional lesson learned; however, not easily. I quickly realized that watering the lawn was far simpler than preparing meals.

As springs, summers and holidays rapidly flew by I not only learned to cook but bake. Suddenly to my own amazement, I soon found myself enjoying both activities immensely.

Then before I blinked my proverbial eye, the chaotic, hours and minutes shared in the white house with the black shutters abruptly ended.. I found myself alone, roaming about empty rooms. My love had been called to his eternal reward, and the Fabulous four had all become New York expatriates.

During the lonely years when I lived alone, I clung to old habits and continued to bake. Any and all of the culinary successes quickly traveled to neighbors and friends.

Eventually, even I was forced to admit the empty house had become far too big for its solitary occupant. Increasingly, it became saturated with loneliness. Every room held a memory. Each empty closet was a reminder of countless denim dungarees, team jackets, and pastel tulle party dresses.. The brick patio with the red chair was another area I needed to avoid because of the memories.of the one who loved it so much.

Reluctantly, I acknowledged it was time to abandon the big white house with the black shutters and brick patio and move on to whatever life remained.

My new residence provided a haven, and I now have a sense of contentment in another State. I admit it is far smaller than the cape cod I shared for close to six decades. However, those I love are no longer part of my household. I have learned about living alone.

Recently, to my surprise some old habits have returned including the solace I once found in baking. Unfortunately, the period of tranquility soon disappears, remaining only until I begin to clean up my highly compressed efficiency kitchen alcove.

While assembling the ingredients needed for baking a NY crumb cake this morning, I found myself moving gingerly into the living area carrying a bowl filled with flour.

Before stepping ever so delicately carrying an open jar of cinnamon and a small bottle of vanilla into the bedroom, I stopped. I realized I needed to open a clothes closet to retrieve an unopened bag of sugar.

Yes, life has once again presented me with another interesting challenge. Now I must learn, not to stop baking, but how to enjoy doing in a far smaller space. I find myself reluctant about facing this new test.

Possibly because I know the real issue is not about baking, but rather a lesson for finding pleasures in life alone.

That will be quite different and much harder than when I lived in the lovely little white house with the black shutters.