Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

I finally got around to doing some cooking I'd meant to do, uh, a week and a half ago. This post was going to be about that, but the "brief digression on dishes" turned into a whole post on its own, and I figured that it just didn't flow well thematically for anyone who bothered to read the cut-tag, so I'm going to post this now and then start on the entry I meant to write.

I also finally got almost caught up on dishes, though I wound up throwing away a bunch of the plastic stuff (re-used margarine tubs, cottage cheese containers, etc.) that had been sitting long enough to get pretty yucky. I'll gradually rebuild my collection. (Hey, those come in handy!)

Now about those dishes...

When I lived with other people, I tried to be really good about not leaving dirty dishes around, as long as there was enough room in the sink to wash my dishes when I was done with them. (That is, I wasn't big on washing an entire sinkful of someone else's dishes just to clear space to wash mine.) I was pretty good about it, actually, when I lived with housemates who were also good that way. It's partly an "I know I'll want to deal with these even less later," partly, "Gee, I want to be a good housemate so I shouldn't leave my stuff in other folks' way," and a bit of, "Well it really bugs me when they leave their dishes in my way, so I'd be a hypocrite to do the same to them." Living on my own, only the first reason applies, so sometimes I'll leave one meal -- maybe a meal and two snacks -- worth of dirty dishes in the sink to get around to later. In fact, my approach to dishes has been -- and often still is -- to clean as I go. If there's a few minutes when I'm waiting for something to simmer, that's often just enough time to wash the utensils I just got finished using. Sometimes it works out so that by the time the food is ready, everything's already clean except the very last pot, the one the food is still in.

(I also hate doing dishes that other people have dirtied. I know it's fair and reasonable to do that "the person who didn't cook cleans up" thing when a couple dines together, but I'd really much rather clean up my own messes, especially if I feel like the other person leaves more of a mess when she cooks anyhow. Personal quirk. I can work around it, but there's my preference.)

But once in a while I just feel really crappy due to the fibromyalgia, for long enough to build up a proper mess of dirty dishes to get around to once I feel better again. I don't like that (especially when I run out of forks ... or bowls), but it's one of the smaller sucky ways my illness interferes with my life. (Come to think of it, one ex-housemate who used to let stuff pile up in the sink to annoying levels suffered CFS at the time, IIRC, which might explain that ... but not the other ex-housemates who were as bad or worse (not having any counter space to use that isn't covered with dirty dishes or shrimp shells is kind of gross, especially to a vegetarian (but I digress (I mean even further than I meant to digress)).)

Uh, where was I? Oh yeah...

So sometimes the dishes pile up way higher than I want them to ever pile. Sometimes one whole side of the sink (yah, it's one of those divided sinks) fills up before I feel well enough to wash 'em all in a huge soapy dish-frenzy. But hey, I stand there until my back hurts too much, my hands won't hold a plate, I run out of space in the dish drainer, or the hot water gives out, whichever comes first, and feel a sense of accomplishment at Getting Chores Done, y'know? Once I feel well enough to stand at the sink longer than five minutes, that is.

Well this time the dishes got way out of hand. To the gross-and-disgusting level. Not managing to get them all cleared out before leaving the house for multiple days at a stretch didn't help the g&d aspect either. An extended fibromyalgia "flare", followed by not being home, then being too busy with more urgent things, then another week-or-so-long flare, and back and forth like that ... well after using up a whole lot of plastic spoons and forks, I did manage to wash a whole bunch of dishes that had gotten to the point that I wanted to pre-soak them in water that had a bit of bleach added to it. Cleared half the sink. And got clobbered by my body again and lost 3/4 of the ground I'd gained. Feh. Well tonight, instead of tackling a project that I really need to do but need to give my brain a little break from, I finally got mostly caught up -- including the stuff I used this evening -- except for a couple of items that want to be scrubbed more thoroughly when the hot water comes back and my hands aren't cramping.

I really must lay in a supply of paper and/or styrofoam dishes to use when I'm feeling That Bad, assuming I can recognize quickly enough that it's going to last long enough to create Dish Problems.

Anyhow, this got pretty nasty.

Then again, I've seen similar-looking piles (though I don't know how long they'd been there) in other people's kitchens occasionally, so maybe I'm overreacting on the grossness level. I dunno. But some of the dishes had been there over a month, and I usually think of three days as, "Eww; how did I let these sit this long?"

Of course, the kitchen itself is still a mess and a little gross. The stove got beyond what I'm physically able to correct a while back (I'm seriously considering removing the top and taking it to Bowie so my brother can hit it with the power-washer he got for the deck and driveway there), I've got clutter all over the place, and (*sigh*) I still have mice. Which means I have mouse-poop. Which is gross. (I haven't considered countertops "safe" surfaces to set utensils on in quite a long time.)

Oh yeah, last night a mouse ran across the kitchen and nearly across my toes while Perrine was on the far side of the room and looking the wrong way. I did get her attention -- she seemed to figure out what I was trying to communicate, and went and sniffed the area where the mouse vanished -- but not quickly enough. The mouse had been caught on the wrong side of the kitchen when Perrine and I walked in, and was desperate to get back to a place the cat couldn't reach. I just wish I'd seen it in time to get my foot into its path, and maybe kick it towards my adorable killing machine.

Anyhow, I manage to cook in my dirty kitchen by being very careful where I set things down. Nothing touches a countertop -- or the table -- except the underside of a plate or the bottom of a glass -- I even protect the underside of my cutting board from the countertops, unless I've just done a Big Cleaning, with scrubbing followed by Lysol, and haven't been gone long enough for the mice to come through again.

Someday, here or elsewhere, I'm going to have a pretty, sparkly, magazine-photo-like, clean kitchen that's a delight to work in, easy to keep clean, free of vermin, and safe-feeling. Someday. And in my dream house, it's big enough for two people (three, if they're lovers or just a really good team) to work together in, with the windows and lights in just the right places, and room to have all the pots and pans and utenils in easy reach. Oh, but I'm re-digressing again.

Okay, I think I'm done. Now to write about the food.