The continuing kitchen saga…
I sorted out the junk drawer.
It had to be done,
it was overflowing
and in its depths
perished rubber bands
that had stuck together
overlapping like Olympic Rings.
I also found
a radiator key,
pocket screwdriver set – one strangely missing,
felt tip pens that mostly still worked
a ruler
blob of blue tack
rolls of parcel tape
and instructions…
how to work the washing machine
the microwave,
the blender,
the cooker I currently have
the one I didn’t install
with instructions
I never properly read
so, I never realised
it was self-cleaning.
Too late to try it out now!
Instructions for a food-processor
long ago retired and disposed of…
at least I think I threw it out…
when I moved…
but perhaps that’s the next item
I will find
at the back of the next cupboard
I need to empty.
But what I really didn’t expect to find
was a picture of the kitchen
from the old house
that I had left behind.
The floor plan – all neat lines and measurements
mocked up images – laminated like a wipe clean café menu,
even the costings,
(oh my how prices have soared,
perhaps I have chosen
something far grander
for a smaller space
this time around.)
Of course I’ve got real photos
(on my phone – not printed out)
of how it actually looked
after the plans were completed
to my complete satisfaction.
I’ve got memories of laughter
that spans the time
before it even looked like that
and the time between,
the transition from old to new.
Memories of disasters
and tears and tantrums,
broken fridge handles,
late nights washing up the best crockery alone,
tea drunk
confidences shared
dinners eaten
a life created of more than designer cupboards and shiny worktops
a drawer full of more
than the junk left behind.