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Inspiration amidst Coronavirus chaos and a kitchen disaster
Three weeks ago, we began a ‘quick’ kitchen refurb. Initially, it was an exciting time practically bursting at the seams with hope and promise. Like that kid waiting for Christmas, I’d been ceremoniously counting down the days, anticipating the life transformation that was sure to follow, and I was delighted when it was finally upon us. **Excited squeals**
An agreed seven days of eating takeout and living in disarray would be worth the end product: we would finally have a kitchen that looked like one of those snazzy images on Pinterest. I couldn’t wait! I struggled to contain my mid-life excitement.
Refurbs are de rigueur don’t you know – cost-effective, maintaining a certain old-world charm and terribly eco-friendly. I was energized. When I trotted off for several days on my weekly work trip, I had high expectations for my return. My mind was full of vibrant images: a blaze of shiny new tiles, cold, glossy countertops that would immediately transform my pastry-making ability, and, most exciting of all, a new floor.
Be still my beating heart
I received animated daily updates from my husband. The dated countertops were unceremoniously wrestled off and hacked to pieces. The old kitchen sink was triumphantly ripped out and slung into the yard. The water was disconnected. The tiles were smashed to bits, and, last but not least, the cabinet doors were yanked off ready to be transformed by the guy who can spray away years of hardship, leaving a gloriously colorful transformation in his wake.
It was going well, and we were making good progress. When I returned to total carnage several days later, I was as cool as a cucumber because I knew this was time-limited. It was under control. As someone who struggles to exist in anything but an orderly environment, I could deal with the chaos because the end justified the means. It was just a matter of a few days; all I needed to do was just breathe.
The Drama
And then we ended up slap bang, in the middle of a global pandemic and international lockdown.
As one does sometimes.
The countertop guy had to, entirely understandably, self-isolate. The spraying guy couldn’t get the paint, and the tile adhesive was still in the shop. Floor? What floor?!
Like the dramatic mid-90’s collapse of Barings Bank, my kitchen dreams vanished in a puff of builder’s dust, along with every workman, workwoman, and kitchen refurb part.
It was dramatic.
And it happened at the worst possible time before anything had been put back.
The cupboards had been emptied, and the food temporarily evacuated to the early-spring cool of the conservatory. Pots, pans, and every kitchen gadget and contraption known to man had been perilously stacked in the dining room; Pyrex dishes and piping bags spewed gradually into the lounge. With the dishwasher out of action and no running water, the washing up was being carefully done in the tiny sink in the downstairs loo.
Fallout
And then there was the dust.
Like the fallout from a Tornado Alley twister, it was relentlessly working its way up the stairs. Further still, along the landing and into the bedrooms and bathrooms. Its filthy march was constant and unrelenting – day in, day out.
Then, bloody hell, it started to get sunny.
This never happens here in the UK in March for God’s sake!
The food that had been, until now, safely stored in the cold conservatory was now exposed to heat that I can only liken to a greenhouse.
Jars of processed hot dogs, pickles, pasta sauces, biscuits, potatoes, flour, and all manner of condiments started to heat up, like some kind of giant, soupy extravaganza that Willy Wonka himself would have been proud of.
Dreams
No doubt about it, we were in a mess – literally and figuratively.
Yes, I know, in comparison to the state of the world at present, our issues were, at most, trivial. We could at least decamp to the caravan while we appraised the situation. We kept reminding ourselves of our good fortune. At least we had our health, and we had each other – although the lack of space was beginning to gnaw at us. Tempers were fraying, and there was a growing feeling that control was starting to slip from our grasp.
In the face of such culinary adversity, we were left with only one option.
In the words of A Field of Dreams Kevin Costner:
“Build it, and they will come.”
(Authors note: Amid a pandemic there really isn’t a ‘they’ at the moment, but I am hopeful that we might, once again, have family and friends round for dinner once this is all over.)
As the strapline to the same movie claims:
“If you believe the impossible, the incredible can come true.”
And so, we started, with glory in our eyes and hope surging in our hearts.
……well, not quite, but we at least had big ambitions. We had to get the goddam kitchen back in action.
An education
It’s about ten days hence and, like the world that surrounds us, things are very different on this side.
Bit by bit, we’ve slowly been rebuilding our broken kitchen. Like a phoenix, it rises from the dust and rubble.
In such difficult times, we are fortunate. My husband is very practical and can turn his hand to most things. Granted, I haven’t spoken to him much for the last week. He’s been tiling, knocking, banging, cutting and sawing from dawn ’til dusk. He emerges covered in dust every night, like some kind of wild-eyed, exhausted miner in a disaster movie.
I’ve had the kids, alone for ten days straight and, I have to be honest, I’d rather have been tiling.
I’ll not lie. It’s not been pretty. All forms of personal grooming went out the window days ago. We really have been ‘just getting by.’ But we are nearly there.
These last ten days have been an education, and this experience, while painful, has taught me a great deal. Here are my key learning points:
1. Accept that some things cannot be changed.
This is one of the hardest life skills to master. We waste so much time being frustrated and angry about things we simply cannot control. We are living through an unprecedented event in history right now, and alone we cannot stop its unrelenting spread around the globe. Yet we can effect positive change in our backyard.
2. Make the best of things.
There is nothing that you cannot do if you put your heart and soul into it. Sure, you might need to compromise, which means that things might not turn out quite as you had planned, but this doesn’t have to be a bad thing.
The kitchen is a different color than we had intended, primarily because we’ve had to paint it ourselves using paint donated to us for free by a lovely friend. And you know what? I love it. It’s a color I’d never have chosen, but it looks great. We also saved ourselves a significant sum of the money in the process.
3. You really can’t eat an elephant all at once.
When seemingly insurmountable issues present themselves, we are often overwhelmed, but just like tiling, you’ve got to start somewhere, one tile at a time. Once you start, it’s incredible how fast things come together.
4. Don’t look back.
It would have been easy to have been bitter about the kitchen situation. News about the Coronavirus has been about for weeks before we began smashing our kitchen to bits. Never in a million years did we ever think that this would happen. However, being bitter serves no purpose. What’s done is done. Move on.
5. Be grateful.
At the end of this, we’ll have a fully functioning kitchen again. Granted, it might not be totally finished but it will be enough. It would be easy to feel frustrated (I know that the little unfished ‘snagging’ jobs will NEVER get done), but this is pointless. Being grateful puts you firmly in control and helps you gain perspective.
From here forwards
From this point forwards I won’t just see a ‘kitchen’ in my house anymore. I will see something much more than this. Something built amongst the chaos, something created with the kind (yet distant) help of friends and loved ones. And yes, as I scrub the tile grout from my once perfectly manicured nails, I will remind myself that I am lucky.
These are extraordinary and unprecedented times that call for exceptional measures. You might be tiling your own kitchen or sanding your floors. You might be a medic coming out of retirement, a recently redundant executive now working the checkout at the local supermarket, or the frazzled home-schooling parent keeping their family safe at home. You might be that person who lives alone and is doing their best to keep it together right now.
To all of you, stop kicking yourself for what you’re doing wrong and start thinking about all you’re doing right. Some things are just more important at the moment. Perhaps the most significant contribution that you can make at the moment is to stay at home.
That is enough.
Although I’m not religious, I find myself turning to the wisdom of Niebuhr’s Serenity Prayer:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.
Existing amidst a significant historical event gives these words greater clarity.
