Saturday, September 5, 2009

Cleaning the Kitchen

Many of you are probably horrified that I can turn the light off on the big mess I left in the kitchen. I like to think that I’m a better homemaker than I am a housekeeper, but someone always has to clean up the mess – eventually. If only the story of the Elves and the Shoemaker were to come to life in my kitchen…

No such luck. I awoke to as big a disaster as I had left. The directions for making grape jam had said to bring it to a rolling boil. Mine had been more a flying boil with a fireworks display. Grape jam spots covered everything within two feet of the stove: counters, walls, and floor. Big grapey pools had stained the countertops all over the kitchen. And I was on a deadline because I was due in Atlanta early that afternoon.

My friend Gayle once told me that she likes the “automatic” tasks like cleaning the kitchen to ease into her day without having to think about what she’s doing. Then again, Gayle probably never had to contend with shrapnel from a great grape grenade.

It’s a good thing that Richard’s attitude is, “We’re not here for the house; the house is here for us.” He also believes that cleaning up can be a pleasant experience if you focus on remembering the fun you had creating the mess, instead of focusing on the work that lies ahead. For a mess of this magnitude, I think I’ll have to remember how much fun it was to make the jam. And I’ll also look ahead to how many people will love receiving the jam at Christmas.

I know the house is still here -- somewhere. While hunting for supplies in the kitchen clutter, I came upon a plastic bag with several pairs of children’s swim goggles. Figuring they must have been left by the children of my niece Ginette when they visited two and a half months ago, I called Ginette. The fact that the goggles had been there for two and a half months before I found them gives some indication of where my homemaking priorities were not focused.

The goggles didn’t belong to Ginette’s kids, but calling her was a pleasant break between cleaning, more cooking, and final cleaning before my departure. Ginette said that reading the blog was making her wonder how long it will be before we start packing her Christmas package of goodies. Maybe I should start taking orders for folks’ favorites.

As soon as I found the countertops, I prepared the peppers and peas. The pointy ends of the banana peppers will be perfect for hors d’hoeuvre-sized stuffed peppers. The remainder will be divided into red and yellow varieties. The red will be made into red pepper jelly, and the yellow will be chopped and frozen as a substitute for bell pepper. The peas go will go to Rachel’s family.

I began slogging through the grape glop. I wanted to leave a clean kitchen for Richard. He’d need all the counter space he can get as he prepares Chicken Paprika and Cherry Queen of Hearts Crown Cake for upwards of thirty people who attend the every-other-Saturday’s bluegrass pickin’ at Charlie and Deborah’s Coker Creek Saloon.

Richard has a favorite joke about a man traveling through the countryside who comes upon a farmer with a three-legged pig. He stops to ask the farmer about the pig. Three times the man asks about what happened to the pig’s fourth leg. Each time, the farmer proceeds to tell the man about heroic deeds the pig has performed: Running for help when the farmer had been pinned under the tractor; Squealing loudly to wake the farmer’s family when the family home caught fire; Dragging the baby to safety and standing guard until help arrived when a wild dog came after the child. After the third try, the man became exasperated. “Okay, I understand that the pig is very heroic,” he said, “but what happened to his leg?” The farmer replied, “Oh, that. A great pig like that you don’t eat all at once.”

I got through the pots and pans, the stove, the walls, and even bleached out the stains on the countertops before I had to leave. I’ll try not to feel too bad about not getting to the floor before my departure for Atlanta. Ancient hunter-gatherers had dirt floors. The kitchen will still function heroically, even with a filthy floor.

I didn’t quite finish my task on schedule, but then “A great pig like that you don’t eat all at once.”