We Made it Our Place

The smell of bacon browning in the skillet filled our new apartment, as I searched
for the rest of the ingredients for “Meatballs Carbonade”. It’s a family favorite. The
recipe called for: brown sugar, vinegar, thyme, parsley, etc.

I opened the cupboard and stared inside. Behind a scattering of packets of sauces
and soups, a bag of noodles, and assorted spices, I spied the vinegar, grabbed it up,
placed it on the counter and returned to the cupboard for the rest of the ingredients.

“Where’s the brown sugar?” I grumbled to myself, closed the cabinet and opened
the pantry door. I found onions. I needed those too, but where was the brown sugar? I
slammed the door shut and placed the onions next to the vinegar. “Moving sucks!” I
silently cursed. Everything gets rearranged. It’s a pain.

In a drawer, to the right of the stove, I found forks and knives. Why are they on
the right? They used to be on the left. The whole world has turned upside down. I used
to go down the hall to shower. In the morning, I still walk out of the room, before I
realize we have a bathroom just off our bedroom. Off the bathroom is a huge walk-in
closet hiding my clothes. For two weeks I’ve headed in the other direction for a shirt.
Nothing is the same. Everything is wrong.

I got on my knees and opened the bottom cabinet. Pots and pans were stacked
haphazardly on the lower shelf. One of them held an assortment of spices. Our spice rack
was still in storage. The small containers tumbled in my fingers. A few rolled to the floor.
One of them was thyme. “It’s about time!” My own dumb pun made me chuckle, in spite
of my frustration. “Where’s the parsley?”

I found the parsley in the cabinet on the other side of the stove. I started to get
angry. Nothing was where it was supposed to be. “Ginny?” I growled, then caught
myself. It wasn’t her fault. I calmed, “Hun, do you know where the brown sugar is?”

“Mike, I’m like you. I don’t remember where everything is. Keep looking.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the help.” I joked.

“Always willing to help, dear.” She sent the joke back in my direction. We both
lived with the same frustration. Joking helped us cope with change.

On my third search of the pantry, I found the brown sugar. It was hidden by a box
of cereal on the second shelf from the top.

I held my head in my hands. “Oh gosh! How many times have I gone through
this?”

Moving sucks.

I wake in the morning and find out someone has entered my home during the
night and rearranged my kitchen. Nothing is where it should be.

Change sucks!

I don’t like change. I like things in their place. Everything needs a place. Nothing
should change.

They do! Things always change.

That’s life.

Ginny and I have learned to deal with change. We search, find the things we
need and put it in place. It’s not long before everything is in its new place, just like we
found our place in our new apartment.

Everything finds a home.

We found ours.

The next time you wake and ask, “Who rearranged my kitchen?” know you’ll find
your place. The things that seem different, soon become normal.

Everything was different for us, but we made it our place.

Michael T. Smith

Story ID:	7412
Written by:	Michael Timothy Smith (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Caldwell ID USA
Year:	2011
Person:	Ginny and I