the finer things in life

Ever since my mother’s decision to paint the master bedroom a few months ago, she’s been on a home renovation kick. This phase of hers has now extended into the kitchen…though to achieve her grand vision, she quickly realized that she was going to need the help of professionals.

They were called in, and my mom outlined her plans to them. Plans which consisted of moving the refrigerator from one end of the kitchen to the other, moving the sink five feet to the right, re-tiling the floor with a much fancier tile than the stick on plastic kind which we had walked on for many years, and adding cabinets everywhere. Cabinets from top to bottom and all the way around. Cabinets that you could open up to reveal even more cabinets. Cabinets that, it would appear, decided to stage a revolution, and overthrew the kitchen government…thus, becoming a wood paneled nation with decorative little brass knobs.

The professionals listened patiently, then began ripping, pulling, and smashing their way right through my mother’s kitchen. Two weeks later, my mom was proudly calling up everyone that she could think of to come and tour her new kitchen.

I stopped by the other day and was ushered through the small paradise where her kitchen once stood. “Look at the new stainless steel corner sink! It even has one of those little hoses that you can spray the dishes with! I’ve always wanted one of those little hose thingies!”

And after having been privy to the contents of all the new, numerous cabinets…which one now housed the silverware, which one she felt that the seasoning would feel most comfortable in, and which cabinet she decided the glasses were best suited for…she sprung the big news on me.

“Your father and I even have a wine cellar now!”

My parents have never been wine connoisseurs, and their knowledge of fine wines are severely limited to those that come in a box. Still, I thought that maybe this was a new hobby that they were embarking on. Something which would occupy their minds and tantalize their taste buds well into their retirement years. So I let my mom lead me into the basement to show me where they were going to start storing and building an impressive collection of vintage wines.

We walked down the basement steps and turned the corner. And there before me stood the glorious wine cellar. Which, in truth, was less of a wine cellar and more of a $19.99 metal shelving unit from Lowe’s with three boxes of wine on it…one red, one white, and one blush.

“Mom,” I delicately tried to explain, “I’m not sure that this is what people mean when they talk about wine cellars.”

“Well,” she told me, “we have wine and we keep it in the cellar. So as far as the neighbors are all concerned, we’ve got a wine cellar.”

And with that, my parents made their arrival into high society. Perhaps a faux-high society, but a high society none the less.