Hermit Diary, Montreal. 12. The Spice Cabinet

I don't know if "corona-guilt" has become a catch-phrase yet, but there's plenty of it going around. Faced with these vast expanses of time and solitude, we're supposed to write novels and compose music, establish yoga and meditation practices, communicate effectively with everyone we ever knew, become bread-bakers and sweater-knitters and Great-Book-readers, and finally tackle all the leaky faucets and crammed closets -- not to mention the interior organization of our computers -- that we've put off forever with the happy excuse, "Oh, I'm too busy." Every day isn't Groundhog Day, but instead it's an endless succession of January 1sts, with lists of New Year's resolutions staring us in the face, day after day. Worse yet, with all this communicating, and everyone asking each other, "what did you do today?" it's hard to hide the fact that most of us have been so blindsided by this thing that we've gotten very little done, and suspect that we may continue that way for a long time.

So far, I'm no different: other than these blog posts, I've barely drawn or sewn or done any of the things that first came to mind as possibilities. I've spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get our food delivery together; that's been a priority and it hasn't been easy. But the other preoccupation has been our living space. J. and I live in a very small apartment, and after closing our studio and bringing the cat and a bunch of work-supplies home with us, we've had no choice but to try to better organize our space. There are still boxes and bags and storage bins stacked on the floor and in the hallway, awaiting further resolution, but we've managed to do quite a lot. We installed a new kitchen light, and cleaned the stove and fridge and kitchen walls; every inch of valuable closet space has been reorganized and a lot of things thrown away or recycled. Part of this is practical, but another part is psychological and relational. Things we barely noticed have suddenly become sources of annoyance as we both use our shared spaces more -- shall we say -- intensively. Rather than getting worked up or defensive, as we once might have, the very act of cleaning, organizing, and fixing has been a source of considerable psychological comfort -- I'm doing something for myself, but also for him, and vice-versa.

Yesterday, after J. announced he couldn't find anything in it, I tackled the spice cabinet. The small space you see in the picture above was overflowing with bottles and boxes, tins and packets; I don't think I'd given it a real overhaul since we moved to Montreal more than a decade ago. I knew what was in there, but nobody else could have, since nothing was labeled. In another cabinet, below, were three plastic boxes filled with whatever wouldn't fit into the designated cabinet itself: one labeled "seeds", one for "spices," loosely defined, and one for "leafy herbs" -- but they had all become mixed up, and filled with small plastic bags from Montreal's spice stores, or ziplocs full of dried herbs from my window boxes and pots, plus little clear plastic containers in various shapes, as well as round and square tins, some full, some nearly empty. And besides all this, there was a large beige sac with bay leaves and oregano bought in an Athens market; tzatziki mix and cumin seeds from Catania; and a red plastic mercado sac full of various ground chilis from Mexico.

The task of organizing all of this didn't really take that long, just a few hours. I emptied all the cabinets and boxes; threw away everything old, duplicated, or unidentifiable; washed out the good containers, consolidated and refilled them; made labels. It was a small, manageable task, with an end in sight, and the only disaster was when I spilled a broken packet of Persian saffron onto the counter, and had to carefully gather up every tiny, dark gold stamen before doing anything else.

Cleaning is what I do when everything else feels out of control. My parents used to ride on me unmercifully for my reluctance to clean my desk, my room, my dresser drawers -- I always had something more compelling to do, and it just didn't feel important; besides, *I* knew where everything was. Oddly, once I had my own spaces and shared them with a partner, I got neater -- though there have always been neglected areas. But when unhappiness or chaos or uncertainty seep into my world, I've noticed that I instinctively look for things to do that feel ordered, methodical, and incremental: making a patchwork quilt, knitting stitch after stitch, practicing music or a language, following a complicated recipe, taking the food out of the fridge and scrubbing the shelves. There's a quiet satisfaction today in opening the door to the spice cabinet and seeing the neatly-labeled jars and tins; maybe today I'll do another drawer of my desk. It's all easier than staring at a blank screen, wondering what I can possibly write to make sense of this thing that's happening to all of us -- but, ironically, that time spent doing mundane tasks is when the ideas come, and I've learned to trust that, too.

Comments

[Rachel Barenblat]

Sending love.

[am]

" ... the very act of cleaning, organizing, and fixing has been a source of considerable psychological comfort ..."

Thank you for writing this down, kindred spirit. My intuition gently guides me to those oddly refreshing activities, too, when I feel as unsettled as I do now.

[Roderick Robinson]

If my handwriting resembled yours, perhaps catharsis wouldn't be as far away as it presently seems. A vague decision was made yesterday to tackle the spice cupboard today; now it is today (06.51 to be precise) and that decision has become fainter.

Twenty-one years ago we moved from a 1930s three-bedroom semi in Kingston-upon-Thames to a new four-bedroom detached house with integral garage here in Hereford. Surely, we said, we'll never fill up all this space. But... well, you can guess the rest. There are only two of us and two of the bedrooms have been converted into (perhaps "used" would be more accurate) studies. Now there's profligacy for you.

I like to think I'm unsentimental but the loft proves otherwise. You be the judge. The final eleven years of my career in journalism were the most successful and enjoyable. Upstairs is a complete set of the magazines I edited during that period. In any truly committed tidy-up they'd be the first to go. But they are a permanent record of a good chunk of my life. I can't bear to think of them torn and forlorn at the dump. Rather than hook the loft-ladder and draw it down to the landing I am writing this piteous comment on your most recent post. Siren songs come in different keys.

[Duchesse]

This reminds me of my mother; once, when she had an unresolved disagreement with someone, I said, "I don't want you to brood about this." She replied, "I don't brood. I clean." On a practical note: My chef friend Bob has long said the one thing everyone could do to improve their cooking was to throw out all dried herbs and spices on a given date, once a year, and replace with fresh.

[Natalie]

I imagine the sudden impulse to clean and put eveerything in order must be happening right now in many households, at least among those of us forunate to have a place to live. Although my normal life is not very different from the newly labelled 'self isolation' I too have been more assiduous than usual in re-arranging, throwing out, fixing, cleaning. There is definitely a sense of comfort in this process.

[Gretchen T Hall]

Oh yes, I can identify and affirm the cleaning impulse. Our spices are fine, but the files...... slowly am discarding unnecessary stuff (am I going to teach Sunday School again? No!) and also discovering interesting and happy pieces of my earlier life.

The other side of the "accomplishment" pressure is a what-the-heck feeling of freedom.....to take time to watch those buds growing, to listen to music on impulse, to be less limited by clocks or schedules.....and to respond this minute to my beloved sister.
Love you

[Kathy Hughes]

Thank you Beth.. I also organized my spice cabinet and found great comfort in doing so.
Somehow cleaning and organized helps during this time especially since we have to spend time at home.
Always enjoy your posts.. love to you both!
K