Pandemic news from the home front: Eli is rearranging my kitchen, my pantry, my world. I remember my great grandmother stating firmly that men, children and pets belonged out of the kitchen. As a child, I scoffed. Now, as of this morning, I’m reconsidering things.
This is how it rolls: ‘What are all these jars?’ I look at the top shelf. ‘Those are the vases and candy jars from the baby shower’. ‘Can I take them to the basement?’ I consider this for a minute…my beautiful glassware going down cellar steps into the gloom. ‘Sure, but leave them on the counter. I will wrap and carry them down myself’. He continues. ‘It’s important to have a lot of storage, you know. I need long term storage for all this rice and pasta’. I look up in the general direction of the ceiling. ‘Yes, of course’ I concede. I watch as my cut glass punch bowl descends to the counter. ‘We’re not using this soon, are we?’ I look at the etched bowl and the cloth bag with the carefully wrapped ladle. ‘Well, we’re in the middle of a pandemic, so probably not soon’.
I search through another cupboard for the last of my Wegmans plastic bags since apparently I’m going to be spending some time today wrapping glass. He’s speaking again. ‘Rice and pasta are good staples to have. This household should never be without rice and pasta’. I stand up from bending over the plastic bags. ‘Have I ever reminded you of someone who was not deeply attached to carbohydrates?’ ‘Hmmm’ he’s considering the outside of the pantry.
Now, he rummages around in the refrigerator. ‘Why is this in here?’ He lugs out a large pot full of spaghetti sauce. ‘We need to consolidate this, make better use of space’. I receive the pot, dutifully scrape the sauce into a smaller glass bowl and replace it in the refrigerator. He eyes the pantry again. ‘I’m going to build new wood shelves for the pantry. I think these metal ones are going to fall. It’s important to have strong shelves’. I close my eyes, making metal note of another summer house project. ‘What’s this now?’ He’s left the pantry and is back in the refrigerator. Out of a far end shelf corner emerges a package of pork chops which have recently ‘crossed over’. ‘My mistake, didn’t cook those in time’. He shrugs. I respond tiredly, ‘It’s okay’. He continues. ‘You need to remind me of what’s in here’.
I start to load the dishwasher. He scoots out of the kitchen. He’s yelling. ‘I’m going to order glass storage containers. What’s your Amazon account number?’ I clean out another cupboard and find two stained plastic containers and three lids which match nothing. Into the recycling bin they go. In a few minutes I hear him rustling about in the garage where I have just rid my self of the stained mismatched plastic. ‘Hey! Why are these in the recycling?’
I look out the window and think about my great grandmother.
690 Saint Paul 