I served dinner for six people last night. I had postponed it three weeks earlier when I hurt my foot. I thought it was only a slight sprain and would be fine in three weeks, but it was broken. Oh well. Might as well do it.
Necessity caused my brain to work pretty well, and I remembered the secretary’s chair with the missing back that I almost threw out the other day. It’s a stool on wheels. With it, I can scoot around the kitchen at breakneck speed. (That’s just an expression, “breakneck.” Not an omen. Really.) So sitting on my rolling platform and reaching up to the counter tops, and standing up on one foot when necessary, I prepared a pot roast, beans, peppers, and rice, set the table, washed the pans, set out the hors d'oeuvres, opened the wine, and enjoyed the evening.
But there’s more to this story. Do you have any idea how much grease and muck a kitchen can accumulate just below eye level? When you open the oven door from a seated position, it looks a lot dirtier. And the greasy spots on the tiled backsplash above the counters catch the light just right from that vantage point. The little crumbs that accumulate under the front edge of the stove are suddenly oh so close!
As soon as I can crawl around without hurting my foot, a white tornado is going to happen here!
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