Yesterday the new kitchen officially became my kitchen. We had drawn every detail, every door and knob and pull, but it took months of living to make it mine. I would like to say it was the perfect batch of brownies or the waft of blueberry pie, but it was a pool of dirty water.
After breakfast I put a bowl in the dishwasher and noticed a haze at the bottom, a still white pond. Ugh. Had the disposal backed up? The drain hose, or something in the filter? We were late to drive Josie, and then get some coffee, but I was already on the floor.
Greg came in with keys. “Do you want me to take her?”
I can’t open jars, but drains are all mine.
“Yeah, go ahead – I’ve got it,” and looked at the water. It was Sunday morning. I wanted that coffee.
Some may recall that I’ve had a dark dishwasher hour before, one in which a simple odor brought me eye level with a headless rodent. Well, I thought, it couldn’t be any worse, so I took off my watch and my ring, reached in and started bailing. Hmm. I’d done a lot of baking the day before, but apparently very little rinsing. The overflow was loaded with soaked bits, and though I checked for ears and tails, I found only floating cake.
Sweet little soggers, I hummed, at least you’re not mammals.
After rifling the manual with slimy thumbs - “You may need a plumber!” – I plunged my hand and pulled out the filter, nothing, and then the fine mesh thing, nothing. No clog, no creatures, no coffee. I threw a button-pressing fit and sat back on my knees, disgusted. Water rushed. I’d unwittingly cracked the drain cycle code – success, caffeine, no plumbers!
Greg returned. “I’m a genius,” I said.
“And there was nothing big in there! Nothing…you know.” I washed my hands, beamed at the sink.
“Yes, great! Let’s get coffee.”
It is good when the smallest things work out, remarkably good. You know, I could bake cookies and scramble eggs and scrub pans all day, but the kitchen wasn’t stamped until my hands were truly dirty. The day our white marble counter went in the installer warned against hot pans and sharp knives and lemon peels, and I told him that is what I want. Breaking in a new kitchen is hard – but every scuff is something tasty, and the scrapes are yours to heal.