For years I tried not to complain. I had working appliances and a place to prepare food. Yet I could not deny that my kitchen was poorly designed and uninviting as a cooking space. I would stand at my stove or sink working in isolation. Many evenings the best company I had was my younger daughter, lying on the floor, kicking and screaming while I attempted to pt something together that tasted like a decent dinner and often consisted of black beans and rice.
Now my kitchen is a bare expanse of subfloor framed covered studs with holes where the windows will be someday. Incredibly, it is an improvement. While I do have a place to cook (my mother's kitchen, crowded with small appliances and the contents of grocery shopping bags that have nowhere else to go), my own kitchen is still a skeleton of its future self. And that is an improvement on what it was.
This is what our kitchen looked like before. How I despised those curtains!
Here is our kitchen on the first day of work.
The room is slowly being stripped to its bare bones with new space constructed for cooking space.