Design Vs Functionality

Let's talk about design vs functionality.

This kitchen is the fourth one that The Husband and I have gutted, renovated, and refurbished over the course of our various homeownerships. I think that is more than enough for any long-term relationship. He might beg to differ, but I am adamant that this is the last. If any of my future kitchens ever require upgrading or rehabilitating, I plan on hiring Crazy Larry the arsonist and collecting the insurance money. I am so done.

Years ago, when we were in the planning stages for our previous kitchen reno in the North Jewish Ghetto, our designer, a lovely and brilliant artist, asked me if I wanted a functional kitchen or an attractive one. I stared at him like he had grown a second head. Why do I have to choose one over the other? He explained that a fair number of his clients cared more about the aesthetics than the practicality of the space. I didn't understand why anyone would spend the amount of money required to make this happen, only to misspend it on silly finishings. We cook, bake, and use our kitchen daily. We entertain. We may not be Gordon Ramsey, nor are we ready for Top Chef, but we love the kitchen experience. There is a scene in the original Sex and the City where Carrie opens her oven, and we see that she stores her sweaters in there. The only item in her fridge is wine. This isn't us. 

When we renovated our kitchen in the Southern Home, we were on a strict budget. We didn't want to spend money frivolously, but we wanted the space to look attractive while maintaining maximum functionality. This is a second home. Top-of-the-line appliances were not in the cards, but I still knew I wanted a few things to make working in that space easier. Chief amongst my demands was a full sink. I hate a split sink with two sides: the washing and the drying. You can't properly wash a cookie sheet without getting soaking wet. I might as well lather up and shower in the kitchen. It is such an irritant to me. Split sinks are my number one pet peeve about kitchens. Split sinks are stupid in the age of dishwashers. So, imagine my horror when we left the contractors in charge of the sink choice, and they installed the dreaded double, even though I was very clear about what I wanted. By the time we arrived back south, there was no way to fix the issue without gutting the counters, some cabinets, and the dishwasher. I was, and remain, extremely pissed to this day. 

People put a lot of stupid things in their kitchens. Usually, it is at the behest of a designer who sees it as an artistic endeavour rather than a cooking space. I have hated our kitchen since we moved in ten years ago. It was beautifully designed by a top-line kitchen company, but I would place a Kalshi bet that nobody cooked here. The stove was broken when we moved in. The original oven was gas-powered. Every time I baked cookies, it turned them to cinders. We replaced it soon after we arrived. Likewise, the microwave was garbage.

No other microwave would fit here.

A new one was needed immediately. Unfortunately, they designed the microwave garage too small for any decent machine, so we could only buy a small and low-powered model. It was the only one on the market that fit the space. The previous owners were very into Art Deco. I love Art Deco, but they didn't really think it through in a functional kitchen. There is a double-level bar that takes away from workspace, and they added a lip to the countertop.

 

A built-in dust and crumb collector

As far as I can tell, the only purpose of this lip, other than to satisfy somebody's sense of beauty, is to prevent dust and crumbs from falling on the floor. It is a bitch to clean. The cabinets don't go all the way to the ceiling, once again adding a dust catcher to the space. I can't clean up there unless I'm on a ladder. (To be fair, I can't reach anything in this kitchen without a ladder!) There are outlets which don't fit any North American-wattage appliance.

See the white outlet? It doesn't fit any appliance that we own.

We were told that if we want to put in a cooktop rather than a stove, we need 40 amps rather than the 30 we have. So much stupid was built into such a small space. Our dishwasher is starting to die. It takes several cycles to drain, and the parts no longer exist to repair it. 

And then there's the sink.

Remember how angry I was about the Southern sink. That was mild compared to this one. I knew from the minute we moved in that this sink was the apex of kitchen stupidities. There are three, count 'em, three basins. Why? Only their designer knows for sure. This bullshit isn't even on the original blueprints for the condo. We have surmised that the small, dopey one in the back must have been for a garburator. Garburators are illegal in the City of Toronto, so it is possible that they got caught with it and either had to remove it or never installed it. Still, I would have changed the sink if I were them. Who puts a sink in a corner? What hairbrained idiot thought this was a good idea? You can only imagine my feelings about this crap. If a double sink is fucking idiotic, then this sends my annoyance levels off the charts. In ten years, I have gotten wet while using our kitchen sink every fucking time. I never leave the kitchen dry. If there is one single reason for this renovation, it is this ridiculous sink. 

Seriously? WTF is this for?

My daily bath

So, here we are. Designing a kitchen for functionality and aesthetics. Our aesthetics. But I am also very demanding that we have a sink that can fit a pasta pot without starting a water fight, a microwave that doesn't take 3 minutes to melt a stick of butter, a counter that is easily cleaned, an oven that doesn't incinerate my baking, a dishwasher that drains properly, and cabinets that I can reach without climbing MT. FUCKING EVEREST. (I am not getting any younger.)

Thankfully, we have good people to work with. If I have learned any lessons from my quartet of kitchen renovations, it's that you must have people who listen to you and buy into your vision. Never hire contractors or designers who want things their way. I mean, who is paying the bills for this, us or them? The answer is never them.

 

Returning to My Roots

I created this blog almost nineteen years ago to keep my mom updated on our kitchen renovations. It started on a very fledgling tool called Facebook Notes. I would quickly type up something stupid, add a photo so that Mom could get an idea of the destruction and progress (in those days, uploading a single photo for a post on Zuck's site was a time-sucking exercise that would have tried the patience of Job), and then put the whole thing in a note. My parents would typically travel to some exotic location in the early fall before making their way to their snowbird home. They weren't here to follow the construction, so those silly updates kept Mom in the loop. 

Facebook was fairly raw in those days. Many of the features available today didn't exist back in 2007. I never knew what it was to tag anybody, so I simply posted my little vanity posts, hoping that Mom would see them. It was my version of an electronic letter.

I had no idea that other people were reading them until the posts started receiving comments from other family members and friends. Apparently, I had created a five-minute hit of entertainment for a small corner of the intertoobs. Those little missives attracted a minuscule but dedicated audience, and I was sucked into the vortex. I eventually moved those posts to this Blogger site, and the rest is history. I was blogging at a time when blogging was a real thing. I moved on from kitchen reno updates to offering my opinions on a variety of subjects. I never tailored the space to any specific "influencer" site. Honestly, I am not talented enough to speak on any one subject with any kind of authority or depth. I simply enjoyed the writing and the venting. For years, I wrote every day. I saw this space as a public journal, and I received encouragement from other women doing the same. I was caustic, opinionated, a wee bit funny, and sometimes I challenged the popular views of the day. I sometimes turned this space into a travel blog when we travelled, a recipe blog when I needed cooking ideas, and more recently, it has hosted some special letters I have written to my granddaughters. 

I stopped writing regularly because the internet became a place that wasn't always safe to express my opinions. Bots would regularly invade my comments. Hate was on display even in the most anodyne of posts. And to be honest, blogging and bloggers moved on. Podcasts took over the spaces that blogs used to occupy. Why would anyone want to read something they could listen to? Most podcasts are now visual as well as auditory. Simulcasting on YouTube is a must in that world. It is the new television. The Husband tried to convince me to start a podcast, back when little nothings like me could actually find a platform in that world. Today, unless you are affiliated with a media organization or have a famous name (Amy Poehler), podcasting isn't the democratic outlet it purports to be. AI has taken over much of the writing universe. It all sounds the same. I swear on the lives of those I hold dear that I have never and will never use AI to write a post. The prose coming out of ChatGPT or Claude is so pedantic and boring. It may be grammatically perfect, but it is so fucking dry and dull; I can't imagine wanting that for myself. 

So, this little online journal has sat mostly dormant. I haven't written as much because there isn't all that much to say that hasn't already been said. My parents can no longer engage with my writing, having lost some of those abilities. Most of us are so inundated with content daily; why would anybody care about reading what my warped mind produces? 

In that vein, I am returning this space to its original purpose. I will be using it to document our fairly extensive renovations. Yup. It's a kitchen blog once more. 

We have lived in this condo for ten years now. That is as startling to me as it might be to some of you. We told ourselves that we wouldn't make any hasty decisions about renovations until we had lived in the space for a while. A decade is far longer than a while. Other issues and expenses took priority. There was a wedding, two grandchildren, a pandemic, some family health issues, a few unfortunate deaths, and the unwinding of a business to deal with. But we are finally ready to tear it down and build it back up. We will be gutting our kitchen, fixing our family/tv area, adding storage, and cleaning up some of the stupid stuff we inherited from the previous owners. I will post on here from time to time to show some of the progress, some of the mess, and much of the vision. A lot of this foresight comes from The Husband. He is great with these kinds of projects. I want to curl up in a fetal position in a corner and pretend it isn't happening. We will be leaving for several weeks during the construction for a long-awaited trip, which I won't spoil just yet. I am hoping that much of the really dirty work gets done while we are out of town. In the dark recesses of my mind, I know this is highly unlikely. The bittersweet part of this shift back to a kitchen blog is that Mom can't really follow along. Her computer skills have kind of gone AWOL. I will bring it to her to read when I visit. I do think she will get a kick out of it. 

Here are some early photos of the first phase of destruction. Lord, give me enough sanity to get through it.

Old Pantry

Beginning the new pantry

Talia at 5

Dearest Talia,

Half a decade! The BIG FIVE! The toddler is gone, and we welcome the young lady. 

I can't help but think of that night five years ago. In the wee small hours of the morning, Zaidy and I raced up to Newmarket to stay with Molly, because you were on the way. Quickly. It was the middle of the COVID pandemic, and the world was very different from what it is today. There was a lot of staying home, very little socializing, masking, and I must say, there weren't a whole lot of really fun things to do. Your arrival certainly brought sunshine and rainbows into an otherwise dismal time.

It's amazing how we all have COVID stories. Every person I know can recount and regale with some tale of that time. Some are tragic. Some are beautiful. Some are hysterical. When it's my turn to prattle on, I tend to remember that day in early August. I couldn't wait to "Bubby" you into submission; smother you with kisses and joyous tickles. I wanted desperately to bond with you immediately, the way I had with Molly. Alas, the pandemic had other plans. 

Being a COVID baby meant far more isolation. It meant initially you were shy, and everyone around you was more concerned about contagion. Care meant separation, and separation meant distance. That all changed just after your first birthday.

We decided that in the immediate aftermath of lockdowns, we would head to Disney World as a family. It was an awesome trip, even if you were a bit too young to fully enjoy the experience. There were rides, ice cream, tons of junk food, and Mickey. But for me, it meant finally spending some alone time with you. While others were riding Space Mountain, we giggled. While others went to spend money, we bonded. While others went hunting for characters, we shared contraband food that wasn't really on a one-year-old's meal plan. It was one of the best trips ever, despite Mickey infecting us all with COVID. Vaccinations are a modern miracle. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

And now, Talia, you and I have a bond that can never be broken. I love who you are and who you are becoming. You are mischievous, a bit goofy, and you possess a hidden intelligence you refuse to put on display. You perform on your own terms. I love that strength. Some people go their whole lives without learning how to say no. You've kind of mastered it. You enjoy a myriad of activities, and while you are still figuring out what really floats your boat, you are willing to try new things. You spent a week at Camp George this summer, and you basically owned the place. You've dubbed yourself "Queen of Camp George" and have spent the ensuing weeks strutting around in a tiara. That takes a self-confidence most of us don't possess. Talia, live your life wearing that tiara with self-assurance and never care what anyone else thinks about it. 

You and I share something else. We are going through life as part of the vertically challenged. Did I ever tell you that I spent the first four years of my life at school being called "Little Dawn"? There was another Dawn in my class, so she was "Big Dawn," and I was "Little Dawn." How moronic is that? I still can't believe teachers allowed such garbage to fester. I know what it feels like to not be able to see the parade. I intuitively understood the devastation you felt when you couldn't reach into the rays' tank at the aquarium to pet them. We are short, and unfortunately the world can be unfriendly to us. But here's the thing. "Little Dawn" became the girl with the BIG voice. I have no doubt that your talent and intellect will shine. And someday, I promise, you will be able to pet those rays at the aquarium. (I still can't see the parade unless I push my way to the front. Keep pushing, Talia.)

Of all the things that I love about you, the one that I simply cannot figure out where it came from is your obsession with cats. You have always loved animals, even photographs of them, but you weren't all that thrilled when Mando came on the scene. A puppy wasn't really in your wheelhouse. He is now a loyal and true friend, but I get that he seemed big and boisterous to you a few years ago. Mom told me that you started loving cats because of a TV show, but we are well past that now. I know you would love to have a kitten, and Zaidy did consider it as a birthday gift this year, but Daddy threatened us with annihilation if we even dared. This feline craze is real. Everything has to have cats on it. Toys, blankets, face paint. If it isn't a cat, it isn't worth your time. Even your zodiac sign is Leo the Lion, the biggest kitty in the universe. Coincidence? I think not.

After giving it some thought, I have decided that you are very much like a cat. Cats are curious. They are always investigating, asking questions, and peeking into corners. Cats are independent. You always want to do things by yourself and without help. Cats are playful. You always turn the simplest game into an adventure. Cats are mischievous. Just like you, they are looking for just enough trouble to make people laugh. Cats are observant. You always see the details that many of us miss. Cats are loyal. You form deep bonds with the people you love. Cats seek out comfort. You love to snuggle with a cozy blanket, or cuddle up with me. Cats know what they want. You are never shy about letting everyone know what you want. Cats are remarkably wise. You are constantly surprising me with your insightful comments. Finally, cats take joy in being themselves. Talia, I honestly can't come up with a better description of you than that. 

I am decidedly not a cat person, but I am a Talia person, and I love the person Talia is becoming. I will love a cat if you do. I sort of promise. Until then, I will spend my time in adoration of you.

Happy 5th Birthday, my darling girl. May it be lovely, warm, fun, and feline. 

I love you to the constellation of Leo and beyond.

Love, 

Bubby

P.S. Here is a fun and short video of one of my favourite songs about cats. 

To Molly on her 8th Birthday

Dear Molly,

As your eighth birthday approaches this weekend, I am taking a few moments out of my Pesach preparations to write this annual letter to you. I am not exactly sure where eight years have disappeared to, but here we are. The baby/toddler years have given way to a juvenescence filled with every emotion possible. You are engaged with everything. Learning isn't a chore for you; it is a wondrous adventure. You seem to want it all, even if it could pose obstacles. I loved how you asked for skates and skating lessons this year because you are interested in learning to play hockey. Given that your dad comes from a long line of winter haters, this foray into embracing the cold made me smile. And you took to the ice like Marie-Phillip Poulin! Well...almost. There are still a few kinks to iron out, but you are moving around the rink without too many tumbles and have embraced this new skill with verve.  

You have continued to delight us with your theatre skills. There is very little stage fright in you. That absolutely amazes me. Do you know that even today, every single time I stand up to sing in front of a crowd, I feel clammy, nauseated, and sweaty? Honest! I have never managed to feel half as comfortable on a stage as you appear to. Imparting my deep and almost obsessive love of musical theatre to you has been a true joy. We've gone to a few major musicals together in the past couple of years, and I promise you that as long as I am able, there will be more. So many more. You have embraced this art form in a way I could never have imagined. 

This was the year that Zaidy and I realized that we were developing a relationship with you that didn't include your parents. When you started texting us, sending us videos of your rehearsals, stickers, and finally FaceTiming us on your own, we knew that we had moved into a new realm. You were the initiator, and we were the thrilled recipients.  I can't tell you how much joy I feel when I see a message from you on my phone. I drop everything I am doing at that moment to engage with you. Sometimes, I wonder if you are just bored and I am the thing to keep you busy. I DON'T CARE! I am happy to be your boredom buster, and I will continue to do that forever. 

This year, Molly, I have been giving a lot of thought to legacy. What will you and others remember about these days and the people who inhabit your inner circle? Have we made an impact, not just on each other, but on the world around us? It is all very raw and deep for a carefree eight-year-old, but for me at sixty-three, it weighs heavily. During one of our many conversations this year, you mentioned how the leader to the south had upended several family visits. I was startled. I asked your dad if he and your mom had talked to you about the current world situation. He said no, and that they planned to keep it that way, but he also wasn't surprised to learn that you were aware of some of what has been occurring. It is everywhere. It made me realize that no matter how hard we try, we can only keep you sheltered for so long. You are at a stage in your growth where you are trying out new ideas and opinions. I feel that it is my responsibility, among so many others in your world, to put you on the Derech Eretz. According to the ancient rabbis, this is our ethical pathway in life. It signifies common decency, respect for others, and necessary interpersonal skills. It encompasses respectful speech, manners, and dignified behaviour towards elders, teachers, and neighbours. It emphasizes sensitivity, empathy, and maintaining high moral standards in daily interactions. These are all qualities you already possess and are actively developing. I desperately want you to understand that the person you referenced is everything that is wrong with the world today. Using shallowness, xenophobia, racism, corruption, bullying, and cruelty as a basis for leadership is always wrong. I know that you inherently understand this, but I have seen people I used to love and respect disappear into the morass of this cult. When life deals you a difficult hand, and it inevitably will, I hope that you will approach the problems with grace and dignity. When we lose that, we lose our humanity. Solutions can never be found by hurting others. 

I have come to truly understand that at this particular moment in my life, time moves only in one direction. It is what we do with the days allotted to us that really matters, and the footprint we leave on those closest to us. You and Talia are my whole heart. I desperately want the two of you to carry a bit of me throughout your journeys. I know that sounds incredibly self-involved, but I have discovered that it seems to be ok at my age. To that end, I have a story to share with you.

When I was twelve years old, I got my ears pierced. It was an occasion to celebrate because my father had been adamantly opposed to it. My mom took me to the mall, and I had it done. I was a bit worried about how my dad would react. He seemed oblivious to the new shiny studs in my ears. When my mom finally asked him if he noticed, he nodded and said, "Yes, but I chose to ignore it." The very next day, my mom had her ears pierced too. My grandmother, my Bubby Chayla, had wanted me to pierce my ears for years. She was so excited to hear my news. She gifted me with a pair of her small gold hoops. They were really lovely, and I wore them for years. She died about a year later, so those earrings meant the world to me. Unfortunately, one of them went missing. Too many moves, too many years. I still think of those little hoops, and I desperately wish I still had them. They were one of the very few tangible things I had of hers.

A few weeks ago, you excitedly called us to tell us that you were getting your ears pierced. You told me that you discussed it with mom and dad, explained why you wanted to do it, and asked if it was possible. You were so thrilled when they agreed. Honestly? Zaidy and I weren't sure you would go through with it. The smiling after photo was truly awesome. I thought about what I could do to help you mark this major milestone. I did visit a couple of jewelry stores, but every pair of earrings seemed inadequate. I thought about my Bubby Chayla and her gift. I wish I could give you the earrings she gave me, but that just isn't possible. Instead, I will continue her tradition and give you a pair that means a great deal to me. These small hearts were a gift to me from your Zaidy. I used to wear them a lot, but now I lovingly give them to you. They are a symbol of our bond, our family, and our love. I hope that you wear them with pride. Try not to lose one. 😉 I hope that you are a tad more responsible than I was.

Happy Birthday, my dear Molly. May this year of eight be exciting, filled with fun, joy, lots of new experiences, and so much love. I adore you and am so very proud of you. 

Love,

Bubby