Chores

Chores by Lesley E


 Despite new and unfamiliar opportunities to spend, and a supposed increase in available time now that the offspring have flown, I have to admit that the inevitable pile of things that need to be dealt with still lurks moodily on the back corner of the dresser and the more onerous, boring or unpleasant chores are still swept under the carpet until the unsightly bulge there becomes a tripping hazard that just has to be dealt with. One of these is ‘the pile’. It is a stack made up largely of those regular and less regular bills which for some reason have never quite made it to hallowed status of direct bank payment, it also contains printed and hand written notes for things I should do or need to attend to, leaflets and flyers for things I’d like to know more about, even the occasional letters from friends and other stuff that I should respond to but am saving until I can spend a little quality time replying to them. Throughout my entire adult life the pile has always been there, sometimes big and sometimes small, it has never been entirely eliminated. It also has a tendency to develop a life of its own on the run up to any important family event, having become four separate piles and a variety of associated sub-piles, some of which even began to develop individual personalities, in the run up to the offspring’s wedding. In the main it takes less than an hour to sort most of it out, but even when I spend a complete Sunday afternoon, writing cheques, filling in forms and composing witty, supportive or sympathetic responses to my often weeks old mail, there are always some less important items that remain as four pm approaches to form the base of a nest for the next pile to hatch in, and with the inevitable availability of new nesting material its reproduction cycle is as faultless as a rabbit, since the mail on the following day will always boost the pile effortlessly back to more normal proportions. I have occasionally pondered the question just how rich or efficient one has to be to eliminate the pile entirely, usually when I am overwhelmed by its exponential growth rate and trying to find something, even anything, that I feel I really rather must do as an alternative to attending to it. I think a full-time social secretary and a personal accountant would probably solve the problem, or perhaps like the Queen all I need are a couple of ladies-in-waiting to deal with suitable responses on my behalf. Though I’m not quite sure what it is they would be waiting-in for, the bunks in the spare room would certainly accommodate them far more snugly that any drafty cupboard at Buck Palace on any day of the week, so there would be no need for the extensive wardrobe that life in the palace must demand, and the gals would certainly be able to afford the odd night out on the town when their duties are complete. But in the meantime the pile waits, smug in the knowledge that the elastic attaching me to it will only stretch so far, then my feet begin to loose traction and yelling protest that the gap where crumbs breed down the side of the fridge absolutely needs cleaning right now, I am forced to part with the time and cash to reduce it to the basic nest structure once again. Though now they have been mentioned just where do the crumbs down the side of the fridge come from? I had always assumed they were the product of that kitchen clearing style known as the ‘worktop sweep’ that is normally found within the ‘stick, sweep and eat’ procedure. You must know the process; all teenagers and most adult males seem to possess this dubious skill, so it must be one of those instinctive things, like kids knowing that brussels sprouts are inedible but the green stuff up your nose is … well... um. Adhering to the stick, sweep and eat process when making a sandwich or any other snack involves several simple steps that apparently must always be observed, and which I’m sure will be entirely familiar to you. You must begin by opening every cupboard and the fridge, banging the doors as you go, though note should be taken that closing all of them is entirely unnecessary. Randomly pick up and move items around during this process, noting of course that these items should not necessarily need to relate in any way to the ultimate culinary objective. Select and assemble an assortment of the required and several unrelated ingredients. Build the snack or sandwich ensuring that contents are easily identifiable for later reference by applying them liberally to the surrounding worktop and walls as required – artistic instinct is not a necessity but can allow some rather nice effects to be achieved of course. Place the assembled snack on a plate… or probably not. Zap in the microwave… or not, as may be required, the microwave door should be left open regardless of use. Replace only the empty packages and jars back onto the shelves where you found them; all other packets and jars of comestibles should be left open on the worktop and should on no account be returned to their original location in either cupboard or fridge. Pick up the snack and take the first bite while sweeping the free hand across the worktop, left to right, then right to left, as this will completely remove all traces of kitchen use. Eat snack while returning to starting position before hunger pangs were first noticed. Result! The stick, sweep and eat process is guaranteed to culminate in a well-fed and contented progeny, along with a kitchen where you can no longer find many basic and several exotic ingredients. The cheese will now be in the breadbin, the tomatoes exploding quietly under a packet of frozen peas in the bottom of the freezer, and the onion marmalade is probably hiding neatly behind the foil-fresh prunes… or perhaps it is behind that hugely expensive packet of superior blend coffee that tastes like boiled footie socks which was opened a year ago last Easter and is now entering its second evolutionary phase under a crispy surface rug containing whole new civilisations of coffee grind dwelling life-forms while waiting for the next unsuspecting consumer to happen by. Every known horizontal surface in the kitchen, including the floor, will now sport a liberal application of the selected ingredients and some of the rejected ones, along with a high tide line of crumbs; and like the calories which do not exist because no-one has seen you eating them, the crumbs propelled to the freedom of the gap between the worktop and the fridge cease to exist in real terms, and can of course be denied. Fridge-gap crumbs being closely related to the mysterious phenomenon of tea towel gunge in that respect, since no one ever puts them there. Now during use of the kitchen by the management, or in other words ‘me’, even the most athletic and adventurous of crumbs are not allowed opportunities for escape beyond the boundaries clearly set by the edges of my chopping board. The offspring having flown the nest, and him-indoors likely only to make a sandwich as an absolute last resort against starvation if all the takeaways were closed for the long weekend and he had already finished off the last left-overs from my funeral tea, then the question must be raised… Where do the little blighters I find lurking in the half-light of the gap beside the fridge actually come from these days? Along with the meek inheriting the earth, perhaps this final product of our given daily bread has an absolute right to inherit the gap beside the fridge, and who knows, the little blighters probably also have the documentation to prove it. Words: 1325
Despite new and unfamiliar opportunities to spend, and a supposed increase in available time now that the offspring have flown, I have to admit that the inevitable pile of things that need to be dealt with still lurks moodily on the back corner of the dresser and the more onerous, boring or unpleasant chores are still swept under the carpet until the unsightly bulge there becomes a tripping hazard that just has to be dealt with.

One of these is ‘the pile’. It is a stack made up largely of those regular and less regular bills which for some reason have never quite made it to hallowed status of direct bank payment, it also contains printed and hand written notes for things I should do or need to attend to, leaflets and flyers for things I’d like to know more about, even the occasional letters from friends and other stuff that I should respond to but am saving until I can spend a little quality time replying to them. Throughout my entire adult life the pile has always been there, sometimes big and sometimes small, it has never been entirely eliminated. It also has a tendency to develop a life of its own on the run up to any important family event, having become four separate piles and a variety of associated sub-piles, some of which even began to develop individual personalities, in the run up to the offspring’s wedding. In the main it takes less than an hour to sort most of it out, but even when I spend a complete Sunday afternoon, writing cheques, filling in forms and composing witty, supportive or sympathetic responses to my often weeks old mail, there are always some less important items that remain as four pm approaches to form the base of a nest for the next pile to hatch in, and with the inevitable availability of new nesting material its reproduction cycle is as faultless as a rabbit, since the mail on the following day will always boost the pile effortlessly back to more normal proportions.

I have occasionally pondered the question just how rich or efficient one has to be to eliminate the pile entirely, usually when I am overwhelmed by its exponential growth rate and trying to find something, even anything, that I feel I really rather must do as an alternative to attending to it. I think a full-time social secretary and a personal accountant would probably solve the problem, or perhaps like the Queen all I need are a couple of ladies-in-waiting to deal with suitable responses on my behalf. Though I’m not quite sure what it is they would be waiting-in for, the bunks in the spare room would certainly accommodate them far more snugly that any drafty cupboard at Buck Palace on any day of the week, so there would be no need for the extensive wardrobe that life in the palace must demand, and the gals would certainly be able to afford the odd night out on the town when their duties are complete.

But in the meantime the pile waits, smug in the knowledge that the elastic attaching me to it will only stretch so far, then my feet begin to loose traction and yelling protest that the gap where crumbs breed down the side of the fridge absolutely needs cleaning right now, I am forced to part with the time and cash to reduce it to the basic nest structure once again.

Though now they have been mentioned just where do the crumbs down the side of the fridge come from? I had always assumed they were the product of that kitchen clearing style known as the ‘worktop sweep’ that is normally found within the ‘stick, sweep and eat’ procedure. You must know the process; all teenagers and most adult males seem to possess this dubious skill, so it must be one of those instinctive things, like kids knowing that brussels sprouts are inedible but the green stuff up your nose is … well... um.

Adhering to the stick, sweep and eat process when making a sandwich or any other snack involves several simple steps that apparently must always be observed, and which I’m sure will be entirely familiar to you. You must begin by opening every cupboard and the fridge, banging the doors as you go, though note should be taken that closing all of them is entirely unnecessary. Randomly pick up and move items around during this process, noting of course that these items should not necessarily need to relate in any way to the ultimate culinary objective. Select and assemble an assortment of the required and several unrelated ingredients. Build the snack or sandwich ensuring that contents are easily identifiable for later reference by applying them liberally to the surrounding worktop and walls as required – artistic instinct is not a necessity but can allow some rather nice effects to be achieved of course. Place the assembled snack on a plate… or probably not. Zap in the microwave… or not, as may be required, the microwave door should be left open regardless of use. Replace only the empty packages and jars back onto the shelves where you found them; all other packets and jars of comestibles should be left open on the worktop and should on no account be returned to their original location in either cupboard or fridge. Pick up the snack and take the first bite while sweeping the free hand across the worktop, left to right, then right to left, as this will completely remove all traces of kitchen use. Eat snack while returning to starting position before hunger pangs were first noticed. Result!

The stick, sweep and eat process is guaranteed to culminate in a well-fed and contented progeny, along with a kitchen where you can no longer find many basic and several exotic ingredients. The cheese will now be in the breadbin, the tomatoes exploding quietly under a packet of frozen peas in the bottom of the freezer, and the onion marmalade is probably hiding neatly behind the foil-fresh prunes… or perhaps it is behind that hugely expensive packet of superior blend coffee that tastes like boiled footie socks which was opened a year ago last Easter and is now entering its second evolutionary phase under a crispy surface rug containing whole new civilisations of coffee grind dwelling life-forms while waiting for the next unsuspecting consumer to happen by.

Every known horizontal surface in the kitchen, including the floor, will now sport a liberal application of the selected ingredients and some of the rejected ones, along with a high tide line of crumbs; and like the calories which do not exist because no-one has seen you eating them, the crumbs propelled to the freedom of the gap between the worktop and the fridge cease to exist in real terms, and can of course be denied. Fridge-gap crumbs being closely related to the mysterious phenomenon of tea towel gunge in that respect, since no one ever puts them there.

Now during use of the kitchen by the management, or in other words ‘me’, even the most athletic and adventurous of crumbs are not allowed opportunities for escape beyond the boundaries clearly set by the edges of my chopping board. The offspring having flown the nest, and him-indoors likely only to make a sandwich as an absolute last resort against starvation if all the takeaways were closed for the long weekend and he had already finished off the last left-overs from my funeral tea, then the question must be raised… Where do the little blighters I find lurking in the half-light of the gap beside the fridge actually come from these days?

Along with the meek inheriting the earth, perhaps this final product of our given daily bread has an absolute right to inherit the gap beside the fridge, and who knows, the little blighters probably also have the documentation to prove it.

Explore:

Women in Midlife	Women's Health	Wellbeing	Recipes	Women Travel	Women Shopping	Women Living
Midlife Women	Women Health	Wellbeing	All Recipes	Travel Tours	Mature Women	Home & Garden
Midlife Crisis	Health Issues	Midlife News	Cooking	Eco Tourism	Books	Women Style
Women Forum	Women Menopausal	Women Meeting up	Breakfast	Travel Europe	Movies, DVDs	Women Fashion
Women Blog	Women Wellbeing	Midlife Career Change	Healthy Food	Single Women Travel	Music	Mature Women's Style
Women Networking	Midlife Health	Baby Boomers	Chicken Dishes	Destination Travel	Woman Shopping	Entertainment
Women's Chat Room	Heart Health	Vitamins	Ham Glaze	Women Travelling	Shop Smart	Women's Beauty Tips