A Room of Gratefulness

            Though it’s rather small, our kitchen is the homiest of the rooms in the house.  It’s like a photo album, full of memories.  The mustard colored walls and roughly painted cabinets give it character.  While my father occasionally reads scripture aloud, the refrigerator hums and the tea pot whistles as if they agree with the word of the Lord.  Often on Fridays’, my momma rolls out her sourdough and stirs the boiling sauce while the sausage sizzles in the iron skillet.  I always snatch some mozzarella.  My dad, too, picks at the cheese, but he grabs it less surreptitiously than I.  The whiff of homemade pizza baking in the oven is a blanket, warming smiles and spirits.  Everyone is happy, grateful, and blessed to be part of such a loving family.  We end the night with comforting thoughts and heaps of laughter.