Same Mess, Different View.

My kitchen for the last few weeks...

well,
it isn't pretty.

"You bit off more than you can chew."

It's a common enough phrase, but what if it feels more like sometimes is,

somebody threw the pie into my face,

no, threw four pies into my face,
one after another,

and then handed me a napkin to clean up the mess.

It all has limited life,

counter life to be more exact,

or floor life.

It is a race against the ever breeding fruit flies,

the power of the invisible spatters of the creeping corrosion of mold.

 

 None of it will wait long.

It all demands immediate recognition and care.

And yet, still life goes on.

The little humans demand constant feeding and care.

Somehow, three square meals are supposed to go into their little bellies,
although with as much as they eat, they don't seem so little.

The big human needs his meals as well.

The magnificence of a pristine kitchen is a dream that only those colorful magazines

and homes where the people live somewhere else all day long must possess.

Someday I will have a kitchen that doesn't look like a zookeeper's workshop.

The son calls from the other room.

His dinosaur domino kit is frustrating him and he wants some help.

The oldest is beckoned to fill in for the steamy, sticky-faced kitchen maid.

The assortment of single socks that Violet has weeded out of the clean laundry for me waits in a pile.  Without their missing mates, she leaves them on the couch unsure of further direction.

  The couch wears a temporary "slip cover" since the other has been forced to take that trip to the mountain in the basement where the washer forever trudges through it's daily spins.

 Other sorted and folded pieces await their final trip up the stairs.
Little bodies are limited in their hauling abilities, so this rests on my shoulders.

I groan at the thought.

 Craft projects litter the ironing board...

while others cover the table.

 The molding fruit is sorted and tossed; the good is cooked,

stirred, a hot and tiresome job with the many others still looming and silently shouting,
"Process ME!  Process ME!"

 

The fruit is then dumped into the bag to drip,

splattering sticky purple drops in precarious heights hinged on thin legs.

 

I sigh.

Messes, messes, everywhere.

How does one ever conquer.

Then I see this.

And I realize that maybe my view of things should be...

different.

Maybe my view is spoiling the fruit that is all around me.

A garden that produced well so that we will have food for the winter as well on our tables today, yesterday, and tomorrow.

 

Organic peaches an Amish woman was willing to sell for a reasonable cost:

an unexpected happiness.

I had given up on ever finding organic peaches.

 Food for supper:

most of it we have grown ourselves,

but just the fact that we have food for supper,

something not everyone in the world has,

is something to give thanks for.

 A kitchen:

I have a kitchen:

I have a stove that works,

I have electricity to make it work,

I have counters to work on,

a floor to stand on,

I have food to cook,

I have the ability to cook.

It may not look beautiful all the time,

but it is.

My kitchen is beautiful.

 I have kids who want me to help them

who like for me to play with them.

They create things

 and that is far better than sitting idly and having to be entertained by somebody else in a digital box.

 Their messes are temporary schools of learning that will someday turn into something useful

and if I squint really hard, they are actually colorful.

The tiny pieces all over the floor

are plastic raindrops of colorful happiness.

(Okay, that may be slightly overstated about the ones on the floor,

especially when I step on them and have then sticking to my bare feet;

but pretty colors: yes, I can say that.)

 

The kids do help and do their part;

they do their jobs, what they can.

 And we do have

 socks to keep our feet warm...

even the mixed pairs I occasionally find on my feet,

when necessity demands.

 We have clothes to wear and keep us warm,

a sizable assortment of them, actually.

 We have special treats, like berries that Levi loves to eat

and are so good for him,...

and the syrup they make will be a great treat in yogurt
and on pancakes.

 

They are bottled up treasures stored away for a time when I don't feel so overwhelmed in the steam of the kitchen.

A harvest of thanksgiving in September is certainly better

than having to 'beware of  grouch prosesing' in the kitchen.

Sometimes, I get lost in the steam of life's hot oven,

but there is a better way.

"Thou are good, and doest good;

teach me thy statutes."

Psalm 119: 68