I have commissioned the building work to my house. At some point in the now distant past, we emptied our kitchen, moved most of it into temporary storage (and the rest into temporary arrangements). We lived through it. With the builders nearing the finishing line with one last full-scale effort for maximum disaster (the re-flooring of the entire ground floor), we are gradually moving back into the kitchen. Step by step:
One box, labelled “herbs and spices.” Another box, labelled “spices and cooking ingredients.” Another one, labelled “spices” and, the scariest of all, one labelled “spices, etc.”
The same goes for cooking gear. One box labelled “knifes,” one with “spoons and ladles”, at least one more with a similar label, and again, the dreaded “spoons, etc.”
I also went through several boxes of provisions, pots and pans, bowls and dishes.
It’s always the same. One box. Oh, and another one. What? Three? OK. Then, the unavoidable discovery of etc. Some boxes contain nothing but etc, leaving my fingers black from unwrapping lots of newspaper, used to protect a wide variety of things, wide than I ever dared to consider my own.
I am surprised we don’t have a special, dedicated pen, designed for writing ‘ETC.’ I have not yet opened the box labelled “stationary, etc.”
It’s nice to be reminded of everything we have. It’s nice to know we have enough. It’s even nicer to know that we still have space remaining, but the nicest thing of all, of course, is to be moving back in.
That’s what I thought. Until I found another half-dozen of boxes. I haven’t dared check their labels yet.
Thoughts, home
home, Kitchen