there-in lies the problem. and there. there too.

I have been dreaming, scheming, doing emotional and physical gymnastics in trying to make this work. This kitchen in my home with rooms and levels. There shouldn’t be rooms. And levels.

Just take a peek, don’t stare too long as it could leave a negative lasting effect. If you can drum up hope, as I continue to endeavor to do, then you are a friend of mine.

The heart of the kitchen.

I have tried everything over the years, and nothing has yet to increase the counter space. Or cupboard space. Or floor space. Sure, I’ve done the ole’ moving the toaster trick. “Ah ha! I have just freed up several square inches of this sacred counter!!” But when I turn my head to see it crowding up my cupboard, or basically filling up space on the other ‘stretch’ of counter top. I sigh. Defeated.

If painting was the only problem I would be all giggles. I do like to paint. But when I know we surely are to start a total revamp any minute, why bother? Now over 5 years later.

Brace yourselves as you turn left. And watch your step.

Where does this lead to? How creative and so seventies of these builders: an eat in kitchen.

If I am going to have an eat it kitchen I don’t want to walk around, down and basically out of my kitchen to step into a tight space. Yes, I have some cozy memories when I had a table stuffed in here. As in whoever goes in first won’t be getting up during the meal. An island in here? Tried that as well. Walking up and around for an egg or cup of water; just didn’t work for me. After many tried experiments I felt led to release this room of the ill-fitting pressure to serve in any kind of food related function whatsoever. Felt like the gracious thing to do. Therefore, Mr. C’s toy room.

The final other room.

A dining room. Ok. And we do eat here. I have smiled, chatted, shared and sipped in this room. But carpet? Yea – many of you get that one, bummer. I try to appreciate that there is space to stretch your arms here, but to me it feels more like space that is being hogged and unfairly stolen from where it belongs one room over. I’ve tried to use this space for food prep. Gave the island another try. But who, again, wants to walk around the kitchen and out with a red pepper, and back again in order to fetch a knife? And really, who wants to prep food on carpet? Oh. Crazy making.

Then there is the “it’s a fine kitchen – stop whining!” pep talk I give myself. Daily. And sometimes, if everything is clean and put away, and if I don’t cook in it, at all, I can be content with this space for a few passing days.

My mainstay for keeping hope? Dreaming of what could be. Rearranging the whole layout. If this wall comes down, if this floor was raised. I have files in my head and in a folder holding these dreams. And a wallet that is coming up a bit short. I’m going to need to get creative friends.