That was my grandparent’s address from the time I was born until my grandma moved to assisted living and eventually out of state to live with my aunt Marilynn. My grandparent’s house was one of my favorite places to be, or more specifically my grandma’s kitchen. My grandma, Lillian, born in 1920 to Norwegian immigrants, was number thirteen of fourteen children.

Growing up I found the two great constants in Grandma’s kitchen were butter and love, both available in great supply.  It was in her kitchen that I learned of her parents’ journey to the United States, how her little sister died at age three and how guilty she felt about her passing, that her dad delivered a milk cow by foot, walking with the cow from Kent to Seattle, a distance of over thirty miles round trip.  I also learned mis en place before I knew it was a thing to do, how to make krum kaga without burning my fingertips, and that waffles were to be enjoyed for breakfast, dinner, or desert and always with Gjetost cheese. Most importantly, Grandma’s kitchen became my solace, a place where I found answers, insights, and always great joy.

butter & benedictions.