“She turned and smiled. “Kitchen-sink pasta.”“My favorite. But you really ought to come up with a better name for it than kitchen-sink pasta. Sounds only slightly more appealing than bathtub gefilte fish.”She shuddered. “Who in god’s name would make bathtub gefilte fish?”“I dated a Jewish girl whose grandmother made it,” I laughed.”

“I was lucky to live in the 20th century, when gefilte fish could be purchased in a jar.”

“My grandmother stepped back into the kitchen to get their drinks. I had come to love her more after death than I ever had on Earth. I wish I could say that in that moment in the kitchen she decided to quit drinking, but I now saw that drinking was a part of what made her who she was. If the worst of what she left on Earth was a legacy of inebriated support, it was a good legacy in my book.~Susie's grandmother, Lynn pgs 315-316”

“I just peed in the sink. Why? Because there was already somebody in the bathtub.”

“I had Benia's hands, Meryt's friendship, the feel of newborn flesh, the smiles of new mothers, a little girl who laughed in my kitchen, a house of my own. It was more than enough.”

“I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.”