An essay of mine is up at Cara Strickland’s blog, Little Did She Know, in her (de)tales series. I’m honored to have written for her beautiful collection of short essays rooted in singular details from writers’ lives. My de(tale) stems from reflecting on another Thanksgiving spent in the home where my grandmother died.

My kitchen does not match my personal style.

I would never choose weird, iridescent purple wallpaper for the lower half the walls, bordered by a wooden chair rail. I wouldn’t pair that wallpaper with an equally ugly purple border along the top of the walls. I wouldn’t have a tiny floral-print valance at the top of my kitchen window. I would not put a Formica tabletop on cherry legs. I would not own wooden chairs with hearts in the back of them.

Stripping wallpaper takes work, though, and I could never get rid of my kitchen table. My Grandma Millie designed and ordered in the 1950s when she inherited money from her beloved aunt and uncle. My mom, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my siblings, and I all grew up around that table. I even have the original receipt for the table and chairs.

You might think, though, that I would have at least gotten rid of the stuff that is in the windowsill. Do I really need a tiny, Hawaiian-shirt wearing Garfield the cat figurine? Do I need a fake geranium bloom that has, inexplicably, been planted in a little pot of real dirt?

Read the rest at Little Did She Know.

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