Change Is Hard

Something really dumb is happening. My mom is having her kitchen redone. It's an overhaul. New countertops, new sink, and even a new stove. This is not dumb, but how much I hate it is. I know I'm entitled to my own opinions, but this is different. My aversion is not the type to be expected.

It just doesn't match. Maybe the counters don't match the cabinets, or maybe the stove doesn't mesh with the tiles. I don't really know about all that, but I do know that it doesn't match my memories.

These new countertops aren't the ones I spilled cinnamon on while making elephant ears. They aren't the counters I put my dirty feet all over while trying to get a mixing bowl off the top shelf. They have not presented my family and I with countless holiday buffets. They just don't fit the image in my mind.

The sink is different too. It's not the one I peeled potatoes in while my mom made shepherd's pie. It's not the sink that filled with dishes as I stubbornly avoided my chores. It's not the sink I strained boiling water into while preparing top ramen after school. It's not the same.

Now the oven is different. The chip in the corner of the stove-top is gone. This oven has never made my mom's sugar cookies. I've never baked post-race fries in it. That stove doesn't have burnt noodles trapped under the element. It doesn't remind me of the time I accidentally melted the handle of our best spatula. I can't imagine all the chicken nuggets I made on its racks. It doesn't match my memories.

It's just not the same.