It's a quiet evening at the Orsen home as I sit here by the fire in our living room, waiting for Allan to say,  "Dinner's ready."  Preparing evening meals has become an occasional avocation for him, and I'm learning to not only accept a man in my kitchen, but to appreciate it. 
Yes, I said my kitchen.  It's been my kitchen alone for over thirty years, you see, and that tenure grants an unspoken, unwritten, but very real ownership.  Just ask me.  The utensils are located just where I placed them 30 years ago.  So are the plates and bowls and cups.  Also the pots and pans and napkins and aluminum foil and breakfast cereal and canned goods and cookbooks. 
I chose the appliances -- make, model, and color -- and countertop and cabinets for my kitchen.  As a matter of fact, I designed every door and drawer space in my kitchen, and then hand-stained and elbow-rubbed the freshly carpentered cabinets, and sanded and varnished them myself three times for a hard durable finish.
For years I prepared the breakfasts each morning in my kitchen before our kids went off to the school bus stop.  Most of the time it included hot cooked oatmeal and bacon and toast in the winter months.  Oftentimes I made pancakes or French toast because of the 100% pure maple syrup we had on hand from tapping our very own maple trees.
I've prepared years and years of noon time meals for our kids and neighborhood kids during the summer months and dozens of dinners for parents, siblings, other relatives, and friends.  I've loved to have people over to eat.  But first I have cleaned and polished, on a regular basis, every appliance, every cranny and crevice of the stove, refrigerator, dishwasher, microwave, and sink in my kitchen.  The chrome faucets shine.
Call me territorial if you wish.  I believe "territorial" is a universal trait of the animal kingdom which includes, as you should very well know, the human species -- whether you like to admit it or not.  Territorial is not a pejorative word, in my estimation.  It is, in fact, a high compliment, for it means we've accepted a particular responsibil-ity in a particular space and we will enhance that space, so help me God, with or without the help of others.
Most of you, probably, also have your very own territories   Besides your kitchen or your den, you've probably also got your office or your sewing room or your garden or your garage or your woodworking shop, your bedroom, your exercise room, or your backyard deck.  Or maybe your own golf course or caddy shack.
In some cases, your territory may simply be your favorite chair.  So be it.  Sit in it as best you can.  Pray in it.  It's part of your turf, and can even become part of your identity.  Observant people recognize it as such; considerate people respect it as such.  God claims the whole world, yet He told us we could have dominion over parts of it.  I want my kitchen!
So call me territorial.  Call me anything you want, but understand that I had to give a permission of sorts in order for Allan to take over my kitchen once in a while.  Courtesy demands that he ask.  Also common sense and the common law of physics:  No two things can occupy the same space at the same time. 
Also understand that it's not all peaches and cream with a man in my kitchen.  He splatters where I never splattered.  He drips where I never dripped.  He greases where I never greased. 
Cleanup in my kitchen still belongs to me.  I don't mind.  It gives me the opportunity to undo the splashes and splatters and drips.  I like to see things cleaned up and in their proper order, where they belong, especially before I hop in bed for the night.
At the very same time, let it also be told that Allan's marinades are deli-cious, his meats tender, and his presen-tations elegant.  Much of the time it's a candlelight affair.  If I've spoiled him and the kids in my kitchen for so many years, I guess it's okay for him to spoil me once in a while, especially since he more or less begs to do so.  It's true.  You can't make up stuff like that and put it in print.
You could say, after all this time of sole proprietorship, that I'm allowing Allan to be grandfathered in to my kitchen because he, in a primitive manner of speaking, put the meat on the table in the first place, if you know what I mean.  If he wants to now literally put the meat on the table, I will light the candles.
Yes, Allan has now been officially grandfathered in -- it happened on January 21st, 2003 -- and who would deny a grandfather?  Surely I've told you about Addie Sue -- sweetest little creation in all the world.  Mother Jenny calls her Sweet Pea and Punkin' Pie and Honey Bun and other dear and darling names for things one might find in a kitchen.
As for this particular young editor, herself now a grandmother, she can be called anything that comes to mind ... including territorial and Grandma Sue ... and she prefers that you do it with a smile and love in your heart.
What's that I hear?  Dinner's ready?  Mmmmm.
~Sue