I’m feeling more and more like writing lately, which is good for me, I guess.
Slowly, some old patterns return in new flavors… sitting on a new sofa with my old laptop… new coffee table for my feet… new TV on a new wall… new sounds from the dishwasher… old blanket by my side to take off the evening chill… familiar candle-holders in the room.
I feel positively orgasmic when I look over my left shoulder to my clean, high-polished kitchen. I can’t believe it’s mine. I’m trying to organize it by functional areas – I have a breakfast station beside the fridge with a toaster, a blender (for my morning smoothies), fresh fruit, and a cabinet full of sugar, honey, cereal, almonds, muffins, bread, vitamins, etc.
Glasses are close to the fridge, too.
On the other side of the room, the stove is the focal point for the cooking station. Pots, pans, utensils, cooking oils, spices, cutting boards, knives, and plates are all within arm’s reach. I also made one nearby cabinet my canned goods pantry, complete with a can opener in the drawer below.
The rest of my millions of can’t-live-without kitchen items, like my snow-cone maker, my teddy-bear-shaped cake pan, and my marble rolling pin are scattered around the rest of the room with other associated things, tucked away, waiting for the one moment of the year when they will be hunted down and actually used.
Today I bought a beautiful bowl-shaped planter filled with fresh basil that’s sitting on the center island.
It’s the kind of kitchen I’d always dreamed of, but never thought I could have, much less keep clean. Mine is spotless at this moment, with no guarantees for the future. 🙂
(Hmm… I just realized I don’t recall moving my marble pastry board. I think it might still be tucked between the fridge and the cabinets in the old house. I’ll have to call the landlord tomorrow. I think I have a mosaic lamp in my garage that belongs to him, too.)
It still isn’t comfortable yet. It’s like a new pair of gorgeous leather shoes that look lovely but feel awful until they’re broken in just so. How long will it take?
I’ve read 6 months is the magic number – that’s how long it takes to adjust to a major life change like a move. I guess I’ve still got 5 to go.
I love flipping all the light switches at night until I find the right one. I love sleeping in my new bed and knowing that my ex has never been in it and never will be. I love not having one whole cabinet taken up with his alcohol. I love taking the garbage – my garbage – down to the curb on Sunday nights. I love walking the dog in the park. And I adore having both closets and bathroom sinks to myself.
I may never share again.