This crock, though, this one's so open-ended, like a prose poem. For a moment, it held all the wooden spoons. Then I put the spoons back in the drawer and brought the crock over the luncheonette. Put it on the menu.
K's cookie jar, which Carla the amazing baker returned to him, and therefore us, after years of keeping it safe.
Inside the horizontally laid old wood paneling in the kitchen were these very proper, sturdy beams.
And the thing about a new kitchen: you can lay out an old tablecloth until the wrinkles calm down and not want to apologize to it for the mess. More on that soon.