Naturally
Well-known Member
- Location
- Corner of Walk 'n Don't Walk
My grandparents kitchen window faced west.
The kitchen window in the house I grew up in faced west.
And now, in my own house bought in 2006, the kitchen window faces west too.
It might not mean anything in a cosmic or predestined sense … but it definitely points to something.
When the same (minor?) detail repeats across generations and I finally realize it, it gives me a hmmm.
Our minds are good at connecting dots in the things we grew up with.
Maybe a west-facing kitchen window became part of my internal definition of what a kitchen feels like.
When I later found myself in a house with that same orientation, maybe it stood out without a thought.
A west-facing kitchen gives afternoon light and warm sunsets while cooking dinner.
Often it's a view that feels alive at the end of the day as wildlife scurries after a final snack before dark.
My grandparents may have chosen it intentionally. My parents may have liked the same kind of light.
And I might have gravitated to it without even realizing.
Even if accidental, the repetition gives a comforting and quiet sense of lineage.
Three generations looking out at the day ending from the same place in the house.
It’s the kind of unplanned detail that links people and generations.
Sometimes a pattern feels meaningful simply because it’s familiar, and familiar things anchor us.
My family all enjoyed watching the same sun go down from the heart of our homes. So there's that.
Fact: If I suddenly start cooking breakfast at sunset, you’ll know the universe finally lost track of me.
If I live in a house with a non-west-facing kitchen window, I’ll probably walk around all day feeling like the furniture is in the wrong place.
Feng shui and all ya know.
The kitchen window in the house I grew up in faced west.
And now, in my own house bought in 2006, the kitchen window faces west too.
It might not mean anything in a cosmic or predestined sense … but it definitely points to something.
When the same (minor?) detail repeats across generations and I finally realize it, it gives me a hmmm.
Our minds are good at connecting dots in the things we grew up with.
Maybe a west-facing kitchen window became part of my internal definition of what a kitchen feels like.
When I later found myself in a house with that same orientation, maybe it stood out without a thought.
A west-facing kitchen gives afternoon light and warm sunsets while cooking dinner.
Often it's a view that feels alive at the end of the day as wildlife scurries after a final snack before dark.
My grandparents may have chosen it intentionally. My parents may have liked the same kind of light.
And I might have gravitated to it without even realizing.
Even if accidental, the repetition gives a comforting and quiet sense of lineage.
Three generations looking out at the day ending from the same place in the house.
It’s the kind of unplanned detail that links people and generations.
Sometimes a pattern feels meaningful simply because it’s familiar, and familiar things anchor us.
My family all enjoyed watching the same sun go down from the heart of our homes. So there's that.
Fact: If I suddenly start cooking breakfast at sunset, you’ll know the universe finally lost track of me.
If I live in a house with a non-west-facing kitchen window, I’ll probably walk around all day feeling like the furniture is in the wrong place.
Feng shui and all ya know.
