The battered inside of the cupboard under the kitchen sinkmakes me happy. Here are two honest nailshammered into the original boards that have been theresince the apartment block was built. It’s like revisitingforgotten members of our closest family.At some point the boards were blue;    there is some leftover redand a green pastel. The kitchen sink is newand the counter has been raised ten centimeters. Probablyit’s been renovated several times through the years.The kitchen has remained current; there are new lamps,electric stove, fridge and coffee maker.But here under the sink a time warp has been allowedits hidden existence. Here is the wash tub with the floor cloth,the plunger and a forgotten bit of caustic soda.Here the spider moves about undisturbed.Maybe there’s been kissing and dancing in this kitchen.Probably there’s been crying.Happy people newly in love have prepared fragrant mealsand later cooked porridge while making sandwiches for lunch boxes.Hungry children have stolen cookies. Laughter has resoundedin the stairwell and ropes have been skipped in the yardwhile new cars were being parked outside. People moved in    and out,old ones died and were carried downstairs, newborn babieswere carried upstairs. Everything according to order—my nameplate will also disappear from the door one day.I get down on my knees in front of the kitchen sinkand respectfully greet the plunger, the spiderand the two honest nails.