Jan 21/13 – I spend fifteen minutes yesterday washing maybe 40 square feet of kitchen floor. Fifteen minutes with a mop for a room maybe five feet wide (I can get through it in my wheelchair but don’t ask me to turn around in it) and eight feet long. How lost in thought do you have to be to spend fifteen minutes washing a floor you could spit across?
The reason it took me that long was I became fixated on the new pots and pan set I had bought on Saturday. Yes, after five years of living with one Canadian Tire frying pan and two Wal-Mart pots I broke down and bought a nice set of pots. I was in Market Mall, bought my weekly movie and was quite thrilled with how empty the Mall was following the Christmas craziness. So I took a wheel around the Mall more for exercise then anything else but wound up going past a kitchen supply shop which I have always been a bit of a sucker for. As a good prairie boy I have always enjoyed my kitchens with the exception of my current one. Anyway as per usual I digress!
So this kitchen shop has got this great deal on a set of very nice cooking pots. Three pots, roasting pan and a nice deep frying pan….so I bought them. Now I have this big friggin box of pots which I am trying to balance on my knees using my chin for support to get out of the Mall. It was an interesting trip back to the car since I was kind of forced to guide myself by watching the roof due to balancing this stupid box but I didn’t hurt anyone.
So I get home, get the old wheelchair out of my car and get myself ready to balance this box of pots back up to my suite. Now to come up from my underground parking and into the building one needs a sensor card. I had consciously put my card in an easy to reach place knowing I would be in a precarious position with this box on my lap. I get through the first door (no card needed there) and was just reaching into my pocket for my card when the bottom of the box spills open leaving me surround by pots, pans and package material. And wouldn’t you know it, people coming from both directions with me stuck in between the two doors with all of these pots on the floor.
Now you have to picture three individual, one in a wheelchair, one on a walker and a newly arrived Chinese couple gingerly stepping over pots and pans in maybe a 25 square foot area trying to repackage pots, pans, lids, packing cardboard, packing plastic, bubble wrap, etc. No camera so I can’t plague you with visuals. Suffice it to say eventually we got everything, sort of, balanced in either the box or on me. After a sixteen floor elevator ride and a 100 foot wheel down the hallway pulling moves that would rival Charlie Chaplin I finally got the whole package into my place.
I quickly washed everything up before taking my old frying pan and two pots down to the garbage room. I also took down all of the packaging so I at least start off a Sunday with a reasonably uncluttered place. So here I am on Sunday, in my uncluttered place, washing the kitchen floor staring at this shiny new pot and frying pan (the other three are in the drawer under the stove) and I start an internal dialogue with myself kicking my own ass. Why did you buy those I asked myself?
I hardly ever cook anymore and when I do the microwave is the busy kitchen implement. I really enjoy cooking but I associate good meals with being social and since I don’t really have a lot of company I do very little cooking. Plus I’m using a stove/oven that hasn’t had its thermostats reset in years with elements equally as old. Not exactly a real motivating cooking environment.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I do recall rinsing a mop out on occasion as I stared at this shiny new reminder of past years. And that was exactly what it was. I realized I had bought this stuff based more on a warm and fuzzy feeling from days long gone. The days when life buzzed around the kitchen table (I don’t even have a kitchen table) and things seemed so simple. It was about that time that the realization of having a set of pots and pans you would have killed for thirty years ago but is now just some warm fuzziness and one more thing (five things with lids actually) else to keep clean brought a smile to my face.
And as I closed my mind off to that conversation I looked down and damn boy that kitchen floor was clean!