Death and Renovations
“ The monetary value was inconsequential compared to the intention that these items held within them. We brought them together, and together they literally and figuratively held the ingredients of our lives.”
As I write this, I’ve been away from our kitchen for about a month and a half. I’m bereft, missing the single row of hand-painted, blue and white Moroccan tiles – a single row because that was all that my husband and I could afford – and the cherry-red, enameled cast iron pots and pans from France that are the only upper-arm exercise I’ll ever need and the only fortune that I’ll probably leave behind.
In March of. Our response to a sequestered New York City, its five boroughs becoming smaller with each COVID death, and our inability to do anything about it was to decide to renovate our two-bedroom co-op apartment.
