Next to my grandmother’s well-used red kettle was a book I’d wanted to read for ages.
One sunny afternoon, after going into her kitchen for a glass of lemonade, I stole a glance through her Dutch door. Sure enough, she was working away in her backyard, tending to her beloved vegetable garden.
What her kitchen may have lacked in size was made up for with a riot of colors. Yellows, greens, and especially red. All the colors found in her garden and then some.
Best of all was the small kitchen table. From food preparation to meals to delicious conversations, this unassuming piece of lumber had heard a lot since my grandmother’s grandmother had given it to her.
Why my great-grandmother didn’t want it is a story for another day.
I felt like a little girl again, doing something I thought my mother would disapprove of. Thankfully, short stories are short. After less than 30 minutes, I had raced through it.
It took months to comprehend what I had read. After years of being a self-professed “people pleaser,” I realized that description wasn’t true — had never been true. For the most part, I was a people pleaser when it came to the women in my circle of friends and family.
While I don’t condone her methods, Margot Macomber was the story’s hero.
Comments are closed