My Honest Kitchen

I have an honest kitchen. It doesn't try to look clean when it is dirty. It doesn't hide anything. The white, glasstop stove looks brown when stuff is burned on, and if a pot boils over, the food doesn't spill down into the bowl below the element. It is all right there on an even playing field. The oven doesn't make you cry when you have to clean it because the bottom of the oven is one solid surface, and only requires a wipe down after broiling off the food.

The countertops don't hide the dirt. On the contrary, the absolute black granite looks elegantly dusted with white after a baking spree, or covered in goo when goo decides to settle there. Ah, but when it is clean you can see your face in it as if it was a mirror! And the caulk doesn't pretend to be white and later turn yellow, because it is black, and black it will remain.

The fridge is ghostly white, and late at night you can hear it howl and moan in the darkness. When it makes ice, it sounds like the chains of Marley, dragging across the slate floor. The dishwasher is the most honest appliance in my kitchen. It takes every ounce of calcium that our mineral-rich water has to offer, and generously distributes it across my cobalt blue dishes so that when they have completed their visit in the dishwasher dungeon, they emerge looking like blue powdered doughnuts.

Today while I cleaned the kitchen, Kawi decided to do his two favorite activities (in addition to trying to get as close as possible to the red hot burners, hot running water, or aluminum cookie sheets fresh from the oven). He tasted the backspash grout, and licked the grater while admiring that handsome cheeky fellow in its shiny metal surface.

C was busy ALL DAY! He taught fitness as a merit badge counselor to a batch of 11 year olds early this morning, ran the grass clippings to the dump (which he gathered last night after mowing), ran to the gym, and then presided at a convert baptism. We then met some friends for a long-awaited date night that started around 3:45, and ended at 7:45. In less than 11 hours, C will be back at church for bishopric meeting, and won't come home again until 3 or 4 in the afternoon, followed by home teaching. Well, at least I get to see him for a few hours in the evening!