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The Wide Angle: Moving mountains, or not cleaning like I should

I have a measurable problem — cluttered kitchen cabinets.

I have known of this problem for several years, having had to master the art of opening the cabinet and grabbing what I need before an avalanche of pots, pans and cookie sheets come falling out. This is made more challenging because the cats have to “help” by looking for ways to sneak into the cupboards for reasons known only to cats.

A couple years ago, Nemi spent about two hours in the cupboard because she snuck in when I had turned my back.

It’s also consistent with the time she spent in the closet that very same year.

Suffice to say it was weird when my wok meowed.

This is part of a larger problem I’ve had for as long as I can remember — not throwing things away. I’m still three or four sauce pans deep because I don’t throw out the pans I replaced for some misguided reason. I have pans of various sizes, aforementioned cookies sheets, muffin tins, a pizza board I never use, an implement to cook fish on the grill, something that resembles a pot of some kind and a various assortment of other things that are so deep into the cupboard as to reach a parallel dimension, where more than likely that version of me is far more organized.

I’ve been threatening for a number of years — mostly to myself — that I was going to sit down some Saturday and pull everything out and reorganize. Or throw away, it all kind of depends on my patience level or what’s on TV.

Let’s face it, I’m easily distracted, and considering I don’t WANT to do this, I’m even more easily distracted … which is distracting.

Side note, there are a number of people recently that have indicated they like my rambling nonsense. That last sentence was for all of you. Let it not be said that I don’t care about my readers.

Moving on.

I have to do this because it’s getting ridiculous, especially now that I’ve introduced home brewing supplies and three carboys, stir sticks, ingredients and miscellaneous tools that are complicating the situation. I’m running out of space, but again that might have more to do with Nemi adding this supply space to her list of hiding places.

I guess I have a whole shelf not being used, but that kind of belongs to Buster. I’ll explain in another column, but in short, yes; Buster has his own shelf and yes, he’s spoiled.

At the moment I have a semblance of stacking that seems to make sense, which works just enough to keep me further distracted from doing anything about it, even though I curse each time I’m buried by a mountain of kitchenware.

But there’s hope on the horizon my faithful readers. I’m canning again and looking forward to putting in a monumental effort and I intend to buckle down. In the process of cleaning, I’m going to pull out everything, make a mess and put it right. This is now a self-determined thing and I’m putting my nose down to get it all done.

By the time the weekend is over, I will have pots and pans in their place and a sense of adult achievement that comes with it.

Although, I do kind of wonder what’s on TV.

Editors note (that’s me): This column was actually written about three weeks ago … I found a movie.