Sinking Confessions

At some point in every woman or man's life there comes a time when that ominous area beneath the kitchen sink has to be addressed. My time was yesterday. I am not sure why or how it happened, but suddenly I found myself on the floor, pulling items out as if there were no tomorrow.

And when I say "items", this is what I mean:
Miscellaneous hinges, dish detergent, floor cleaner, window cleaner, cleanser, other assorted cleaners, kitchen sponges and chore boys, an old water filtration system, a cardboard box full of plastic grocery bags, a few paper grocery bags, a container of Flora-Life to extend the life of my bouquets, miscellaneous empty containers because you never know when you might need one, a bin of rags that substitute for napkins when we run out (which is 98.5% of the time), old trim pieces that had fallen off the outside of the cupboard and kept because someday I might put them back on. Oh and cobwebs and dirt of the ground-in dirt variety that was now adhering to the linoleum that was in the kitchen when we moved in.

As I worked feverishly to empty out the space I felt the need to check my hair. Granddaddy Longlegs have been known to dwell the region, along with other unnamed species of the 8-leg variety. Even writing this, I get random shivers, causing my surroundings to quake too. I am running my fingers though my hair, hoping, praying I don't find anything besides cobwebs which are bad enough.

In that dark, welcoming under-the-sink world, I killed two spiders, but I know one is still in there. Hiding. Waiting, with his family. The spiders that I squashed? I left the spider remains where they were. As a warning.

As I worked, involuntarily my lip curled in distaste and my nose crinkled; I am glad no one was around to snap a photo. Layers of grease, grime and yuck from years, yes, I said years, was under that sink. Leaky plumbing, kids doing dishes and sloshing large amounts of water out of the sink onto the wooden wormy chestnut encasing which then, in turn, seeped to the sink underworld. Imagine caked  mud puddles. You may need therapy. I need therapy.

If HGTV should come to visit, I am sure I would be taken to the HGTV jail. Or my kitchen sink region could become a scientific experience with a show all of it's own.  The Sink and Beyond. 

Sorta Before...

I should have taken a before and after photo, but this blog is family friendly (even if my kitchen is no longer the child-proof place it once upon a time was.) I did not want to be the cause night terrors, or worse, guilt about your own kitchen under-the-sink status. On the flip side, neither did I want to be the cause of undue pride for someone else as they realize how truly clean their house is, in comparison that is, to mine.

I did take one picture when I was about halfway done. Don't worry, I won't make it any larger than it is. Warning: Do not zoom in.


                                                                                 I did take an "after"shot though because it may never again look like this. Organized. Functional. Cleanish. I even did the dishes in honor of the occasion.

I have decided that Greased Lightning is now my one of my best friends. I found this jug underneath the sink, in the corner. I didn't even know I had it.

Yes, there comes a point when the unpleasant jobs need to be tackled and when it is done, it makes one wonder why procrastination was even an issue. But, I am wondering, does this same logic apply to cleaning the oven? The non-self-cleaning oven? The oven that has disguised its gray interior with a coat of ash and soot?

I didn't think so.

Love,
Dianne