A majority of my favorite memories were made in my grandmothers’ kitchen. The entire family would hang out in her kitchen while she and some women cooked. This is something we still do to this day. Some of the men would go off and watch television in the living room however, most of us were sitting in her kitchen (usually in the way) while giving each other bullshit. It always felt like we were drawn there, to her, to that specific room, and now it is my favorite place to be. It seems that it has been passed to my own mother’s house, we tend to hang out in her kitchen while someone is cooking. It is a place where we all felt comfortable, would laugh, or just have serious conversations. Somewhere we knew we were welcome to say our peace and have it be received and feel recognized. All while snacking on food and stealing a taste of whatever dinner might be that day. I’ve realized that this is my dream for my own home, that we can all feel safe and welcome in my kitchen. We can joke and sit around giving each other shit and creating memories that will be cherished by the next generation with recipes that have been handed down from family to family. Somewhere we all feel drawn to be together.