Madame Blueberry

Now, I’m normally an organized person. Actually, that’s a big fat lie. I’m a disaster. My rockstar hubby says that a tornado always follows me around. Clothes, books, papers and pens scattered everywhere. My house is quite messy; however, you won’t find dishes strewn about, or food on the floor (granted we have a dog, so that helps). I’m not very good at doing laundry. Actually that’s a lie too. I like doing laundry. I like washing and I like drying, I even like folding. I just don’t like putting it away. I never like putting things away. I can fill a dishwasher and I can fill the sink. I can pack perfectly for a trip. But putting away? That’s a different story. In January, rockstar hubby and I went to d.r for a vacation. I have yet to unpack my sarong and bikini. Huh. Maybe that’s where my straw hat went. However, when we do have company coming, or I can no longer find the gaffer, we do clean up. I usually enlist hubby’s help because he can clean the entire house of my 32 tornados in 60 minutes flat. Oh yes, he’s that good (and I thought I married him because he can make me laugh!). That man can clean anything. Except the crud in the bathroom. You know what I’m talking about. The crud that gets in the tub, around the toilet, in the toilet, behind the sink, in the sink, on the handles of the sink, and of course in the corners of the bathroom itself. However, that’s another story.
So now you know I’m messy. But I have a confession. I secretly harbor fantasies of a clean organized house. I chose red for my kitchen because I could see the shiny silver spice containers spinning in their own stand, for the shiny clean utensils hanging on my wall. My toaster gleaming in the sunlight and the microwave not smelling of stale popcorn. I would even have a little cubby at the bar where only my laptop sits, with a Martha stewart designed corkboard of recipes in blue notepaper and black and white pictures of the ocean. My papers and books are folded neatly away in labeled folders underneath in a sweet cabinet. My sparkling wine glasses hanging, dust free from a rack and my English teacup collection, stacked in a carefree but neat manner on its own shelf. I dream of shiny parquet floors that don’t collect dust bunnies in the corners, and baseboards that gleam white. My jackets are hung properly, the shoes are straightened, and the door actually closes in the hall. My bed is always made with a lavender sachet nestled on my pillow, and my clothes are hanging on wooden hangers, in colour coded order, and my unmentionables are folded. The sun room has puffy, clean pillows on the couch and I have well-tended hanging plants in the corners. My newly stitched curtains blow in the breeze from the windows that actually open. Oh yes, I fantasize.
So you can imagine my jaw dropping when I went into bulk barn this morning. Oh yes. Many, many little containers, with their flours and their labels all beautifully laid out before me. (No I did not go near the candy. I know better than that.) But the big, clean silver trowels to scoop out your wares! I was in heaven. How many flours are there? I never even knew they existed! I began to envision my kitchen with many ceramic silver jars, with tiny little white labels of black calligraphy…buckwheat flour, unbleached white flour, quinoa flour, spelt flour, and so on. I imagined sashaying into the kitchen with an unexpected visitor who dropped by, following me in as I say nonchalantly, tossing my head, ‘Oh I was just about to make some organic blueberry rhubarb spelt cookies, would you care for one?’ or the phone would ring and hubby would ask what’s for dinner. ‘well, we can have all vegetable quinoa tortellini or buckwheat quiche if you like’. Of course now I’m just integrating my cooking fantasies too.
Oh, I am so Madame Blueberry, wishing to be like Madame Lacrosses, who has ceramic jars for all of her sauces…
I should probably go put away the laundry I folded last week. I think I’m out of underwear.