My kitchen, like most, isn't simply a space to prepare and cook food. It's where my family gathers, where I grumble over my ever expanding list of chores; where I pay my bills.

And it's a place where many of my memories are made. As I scrubbed the counters and chugged my coffee this morning I reflected on some of my kitchen highs and lows.

Low Moment – The batch of blackberry cobbler that would make Betty Crocker turn over in her grave.

I hand picked the blackberries on a late August afternoon – plump purple clusters hanging off the vine. I slowly and diligently filled my basket in spite of thorns, swarming insects, and spiderwebs.

When I returned home sun weary with my basket full, I got to baking. After hours of preparation I  pulled the cobbler out of the oven, grabbed a spatula, and took my first bite. I immediately spit it into the sink...and it wasn't because I hadn't cooled the cobbler first. I had mistakenly substituted salt for sugar, and the entire dish was inedible. I was so angry I cried.

High Moment – "Make-up" dinner on my tiny kitchen table.

It's one thing to fight with a boyfriend, but it's a whole different heartbreak to fight with your best friend. After a crushing fight with my bf I wasn't sure we were going to make it. When she called after months of silence I was nervous.

Meeting for coffee seemed too public, a walk too distracting. So I invited her over to make dinner. With meal preparation to distract us we were able to casually catch up on each other's lives. Then I took out my special china, broke out my grandmother's linens, and served dinner on my tiny kitchen table. While sipping tea after the clutter had been cleared, we patched it up in the kitchen that night.

Low Moment – Losing Paul.

I've never been big on pets, though I've always loved keeping fish. Paul was a damaged one-eyed puffy goldfish who would swim sideways. But he kept good company and never complained, even when I neglected to clean his tank sometimes.

One summer I let the algae get so bad I couldn't see Paul anymore. So I fished him out, put him in a big deep bowl next to the sink, and got to sponging out his tank. I had even remembered to pick up a new plant for him on the way home from work. The ringing phone startled me, and I slipped on the slick floor and knocked Paul down the garbage disposal.

I threw my hand down the drain after him...but he was gone. I touched every slippery corner of that drain. I pulled out parts of dinner from weeks before.

But Paul had disappeared.

For months I couldn't go near the disposal switch without thinking about what I did. And what I might grind were I to flip it.

High Moment – Finding Paul.

Okay, it hasn't happened yet, but I assure you that when it does, it will be a major high moment in my kitchen...