6/13/24

Posting early today, as my afternoon is full.

And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.

So this one is going to sound really, really weird. My Moment this week was when I cleaned out several cabinets and put them to rights. Organized them. Stripped them down so they only contained what we use. Down and dirty, absolutely relentless, ohmygod there is space on my shelves, cleaning.

It was lovely.

I’ve always been an organized person. As a kid, when I collected Breyer’s model horses, they were kept in a neat line on my closet shelf, organized first in what I considered families, and then by parents to children in chronological order. I can probably still name all of them, even though I no longer have them. Let’s see.

Shadow, Star, Rocky, Sunset, Peppermint, Bronco, Snowflake, Tanka, Terror, Goldy, Phantom, Thunder, and Stormy. Oh, and for some reason, at the end of the line, there was a family of deer too: King, Queenie, Prentice, and Misty.

Standing straight. Facing forward. Perfect order.

They were never thrown in the closet at the last minute. They were never left scattered on my floor after playtime. They were brought down, played with, and put away, in order. One of the horses, Bronco, suffered a broken leg when I accidentally dropped him. He was not thrown away, but he was carefully propped between Peppermint and Snowflake, so he could still stand up.

Aaaaaaaaaaaah.

And it wasn’t just with my Breyer’s horses. I collected many things. Marbles. Golf tees. Rocks. Hot Wheels cars and Matchbox cars. All of these were kept in containers, clearly marked, and put away neatly in my closet.

A place for everything and everything in its place. It continued all the way through high school and college. Textbooks set up with coordinating notebooks and pens according to the day of the week and the time of the class.

It works for me.

This all became really complicated when I got married. Both then-husband and now-husband were, well, not all that neat. Both considered things put away if the doors of the closet or the cabinet still managed to close. Or if it barely poked out from under the bed. Or if it was at least on a shelf, even if it dangled off.

If I open my closet, I can see everything. I know in a breath if something is somehow missing. But with the husbands, then and now, if I open their closets, I can expect an avalanche.

Michael, my current husband, is quite possibly worse than my first. He also does the grocery shopping and puts the groceries away as well. Since Livvy went off to college and now grad school, Michael was always the one who unloaded the dishwasher and put away everything into the cabinets too. Which means my cabinets are chaos.

Consequently, I’ve learned to open those cabinets, ready to duck and run. And things are never where they’re supposed to be. If I have to find the cinnamon, it’s inevitably not in the spices. When I ask where it is, I find out it’s tucked in with the breakfast cereal, because there was no room in the spice drawer, or with the spices that moved into the soup cabinet because there wasn’t room in the spice drawer.

But here’s the thing.

Since January 17^th, the day that the minivan hit Michael and then ran him over, my life has been pretty much like the inside of those cabinets. Or the inside of Michael’s “stuff” closet that I don’t even dare open, but I can imagine. It’s chaos. And with him in the hospital more than he’s been home, it’s me doing the grocery shopping, putting the groceries away, and lord help me, cooking. I don’t know how to cook.

But last week, when I opened the corner cabinet to reach for the peanut butter, and the peanut butter jar bounced out and clobbered me in the forehead, I had enough. I even yelled it. “Enough!”

And so I set a goal to clean at least one cabinet a weekend until I get them all done and reorganized, back to as neat as they were when we moved in almost 18 years ago and I organized the kitchen.

Being the first weekend and I was full of enthusiasm and angst, I actually ended up cleaning out two cabinets, plus the fridge. Three cabinets, if you count a double-doored cabinet (right side, left side), as two. I did it late at night, when I couldn’t sleep, and let me tell you, the sound of things-that-should-never-have-been-kept hitting the inside of a garbage bag brought me the greatest joy.

I don’t even want to tell you the expiration dates of some of the things I found.

When I was done, five overstuffed garbage bags went into the dumpster. And I could actually see what was in my fridge, front to back, left to right, and in the drawers. The cabinet that held glasses and cups was organized by size and how often used. And in the first groceries-type cabinet I cleaned, things now fit neatly onto their own shelves. Baking supplies, top shelf, because we rarely bake. Pastas and rice. Breakfast foods (primarily oatmeal, Pop Tarts, and protein bars). Drink mixes and jello. Bread. And a medicine shelf.

Oh, I beamed. I went to the glass cabinet, got a glass, went to the fridge, found right away what I wanted to drink, and poured it. Went to the other newly cleaned cabinet, easily picked out a Pop Tart, and had a snack. Put my used dishes neatly in the dishwasher. Nothing left out on the counter.

Aaaaaaaaaaaah.

And that was my Moment. Which was truly only a Moment, though I will admit every time I open the fridge or one of those two cabinets, I take another Moment to sigh in contentment. And I’ve been giving the next cabinet in line, the corner cabinet with the deadly peanut butter in it, the evil eye. Oh, you just wait for Saturday.

But it was just a Moment. Because when I was done, I turned out the lights and went upstairs to get ready for bed, hopefully to sleep. And I found myself all alone again.

Sometimes, messy cabinets and a closet that explodes when it’s opened just don’t seem like such a big deal.

And yes, I know. This was an attempt to make me feel in control again, at least over one part of my life. The part that includes cabinets and refrigerators.

But…it was a Moment. I wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t. And I am grateful for it.

And yes, that helps. (Really!) Despite. Anyway.