My Granny’s Kitchen

Granny’s Kitchen


We lived out of boxes

most of my life

moving from

house to

house to

house  –

city to

city to

city –

province to

province to


The only anchor,

in my young mind,

was my Granny’s

old house

in a Northern Saskatchewan town.


The house was larger than


Granny knew

but was a shack to me.

Once a one bedroom,

it was added onto:

living room,


and an extra bedroom.


The kitchen was brightly

lit by a south facing window.

The UGG elevator

staring in at anyone

while they washedUGG elevator 2 dishes.

It frightened me –

I thought it looked like an

angry giant waiting to grind my bones

to make its bread.


The chrome kitchen table was

topped with cherry red…something

that looked, to me,

like someone’s floor.

Beside the table,




grandpa would sit

on a



round-backed, wooden chair

he had

built with his own two hands –

the same hands

that sometimes held a fiddle

and always held a whiskey.


The kitchen smelled of

stale cigarette smoke and liquor –

both of which were




When my Uncle was there,

and not in jail,

he would sit at the table, too –

that red and chrome table,

bright with sharp edges,

and he would smoke

and drink

and play cards.


We all played cards

and they would smoke

but, mostly they would drink

at that red and chrome table

with the bright,

sharp edges.

(c) R. L. Elke 2016Red-1950s-Kitchen-Table-top-e1377747677296

10 thoughts on “My Granny’s Kitchen

    1. I couldn’t get that fucking table out of my head as I started that piece. then I couldn’t remember if the table was from that house or a different one.
      whatever. she had it somewhere. lol
      thank you for the feed back

    1. I would be totally fine with twitter for me but my school district wants us on it to “drink the cool aide” and my ODD won’t let me do what admin tells me to do. I call it twitter twats because the ppl I work around who use it are twats…for sure. It works to share stuff for sure. Tuwitt tuwoo away! lol

  1. Wonderful tale. Doesn’t matter where the table was, or, if it was that exactly or not. It’s there now. Funny, my Grandmother was also the anchor, and, until 12th grade never spent more than a year in one school of town ever. The thing that stands out to me is the pieces “fluid.” People aren’t drifting in and out, they are flowing in and out. The whiskey is flowing. Even then memories are flowing river-like in a meandering pointless route until it hits bend or a damn or and little waterfall. Brought back a lot of memories.

    1. Thank you. I had not noticed the river aspect to the piece but I see it now. I think I’ll add an image of the UGG elevator so people can see the “giant.” It was a terrifying image for me as a small child from that kitchen window…everything felt on edge there. I appreciate the feed back.

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