Life, Love, and Death

The Little Things – Part One Frank slammed the drawer shut. He could hear the utensils clattering inside their bamboo tray. “Dammit, where did she keep the can opener?” At this rate, he might just starve before he could open the tuna. Opening and closing random drawers, he finally gave in to his hunger and snagged an apple from the counter. That would hold him for a while, at least until he could find the damn can opener. He always relied on Fran to open jars, bottles, and cans, and to set out the tableware. The kitchen was more or less a foreign territory. He was a garage man. He went into the garage adjacent to the kitchen. It was a jumble of tools, boxes, odds and ends, but he knew where everything was, not like Fran’s kitchen where he couldn’t find anything. Reaching into a plastic bin, he pulled out his old Dymo label maker. It still had a roll of red tape attached. “Just what I need!” Back in the kitchen he pulled his rolly chair from the dining room table and positioned it in front of the first kitchen drawer. Fran got him his rolly chair because she hated the way he slid his wooden chair across the floor when he got up from the table. It left marks on the vinyl which he ignored and she cleaned. “Thanks, Fran,” he muttered. He opened the first drawer and surveyed the contents: a jar opener, a ball made from the rubber bands that secured his daily paper, a container of twist ties, a tape measure, and assorted screws, nails, and washers. “These should be in the garage with my stuff,” he thought and vowed to put them where they belonged. Carefully, he inserted the end of the red tape into the Dymo and methodically named the items in the drawer, cutting the tape when he was done. He placed the label in the middle of the drawer and was pleased with the results. Now he knew where to find the jar opener! Scooting over to the next drawer, he opened it and saw scissors, bottle openers, a wooden rolling pin (why had she put it in that drawer?) and the elusive can opener! No wonder he missed it the first time! It wasn’t the usual kind with the handle that turned around the top of the can, leaving jagged edges. No, it was the fancy Pampered Chef kind that clamped on and left smooth rims. Their daughter, nicknamed Tink, was a successful PC consultant and Fran bought one of everything – or so it seemed. He made a label listing the contents and affixed it to the drawer. He was beginning to feel better about the kitchen. The third drawer was a challenge. Skewers, plastic thing-a-ma-jigs for scraping Pampered Chef pots and pans, measuring spoons and cups – several different varieties, sizes, and colors, but not one matched set among them. He made the label and put it in place. The fourth and fifth drawers were easy, because they weren’t drawers. They were false fronts under the kitchen sick. He found out the hard way when he pulled on the first one so hard, it came off in his hand. Well, he could always fix that. He did label those as SINK – NON-DRAWERS just in case early Alzheimer’s kicked in and he forgot. Turning the rolly chair around, he faced the remaining three drawers. Number six was a treasure. It had all the silverware – a plethora of forks, knives, spoons in two sizes, and serving pieces. Now he could use them instead of relying on finger foods and sandwiches! Drawer seven was a conglomeration of four steak knives in a Cutco holder, three strainers, two vegetable brushes, and a partridge in a pear tree – not really – just seemed like it. Labeling the contents, he surveyed his handiwork and was pleased. Now he knew where everything was and how to find it. And it was lunch time. He picked up the tuna can and retrieved the mayonnaise from the fridge. Opening the can, he drained the water, got a knife, chopped up some onion, and looked around for a spatula to mix in the mayo. “Where were the damned spatulas?” Not again…Remembering Tink and the PC stuff, he looked on the counter and next to the bowl of apples, he saw a black carousel utensil holder with spatulas, bamboo spoons, ladles, and two ice cream scoopers. At last! He found the bread, made his sandwich, and rolled his chair back to the dining room table. “Oh, Fran,” he thought, “you were so good during those last few weeks. You made your will, put the deed to the house and the titles to the truck and car, and the insurance papers into a folder for me to make things easy. You even planned out your funeral down to the casket and flowers, and clothes.” He put his head down on the table and sobbed. “But why didn’t you help me with the little things?”