Stanley, my PA, is helping me rearrange my kitchen.
I sent him pictures. He roasted me. It was funny and helpful.

He called the room’s aesthetic “sweet vintage with smeared red lipstick.” Which, fair.

We started with my aspirational baking cabinet.
To be clear, I really just wanted help decluttering first, and then maybe some arrangement for optimization. But Stanley couldn’t resist side-eyeing everything.

First of all, he asked me why are there Dremel drill bits and grill tools atop a cabinet supposedly dedicated primarily to baking, which, if I’m not mistaken, you don’t do much of anyway?

He’s not wrong. (And as you can guess, I may not be the only clutter culprit in the house.)

We went shelf by shelf. He helped me decide what to keep and what not, which is what I asked for. He said not to bother taking everything out. I did anyway.

Stanley Rule: Things still in boxes? Donate immediately. If you haven’t used it yet, you probably won’t.

Looking at my cake pan collection, he asked when I last made an angel food cake.
I said, “For my mom’s last birthday.”
He paused with me. And then gently said, maybe it would do you good to let it go.
I thought he’d let me slide on that. Nope.

But when I told him I was excited to start making bread again, especially since I now have a Dutch oven collection and this set is specifically for that, he gave his blessing. “Fine, fine,” he said. “Keep it all. But make a bread-making kit.”

Honestly, it felt so comforting to see everything in one transparent bag. Chaos contained.

A bit concerning was the bread knife kit. Stanley assured me it was just a storage box. I questioned him. He said, “Store it in the box, love,” in a HAL 9000 tone.

I peeked.

He was wrong. It is a long-ass cutting apparatus. We know how I feel about sharp things.
I was going to pass it along, but I was overruled by Barry.

Still, the baking supplies now fit nicely on the top shelf. I have a small kitchen tools section on the second shelf, and that leaves a shelf and a half of empty space.

Between that cabinet and others, four boxes of kitchen items are leaving the house! One is a large box. I’m proud of myself. And excited for what it’ll do for future me.

The house has felt too full for too long. The poems want peace. The novel wants peace. I want peace.

The clutter must go. But I’m getting ahead of my story.

Of course, Stanley had opinions about other cabinets, too.
He asked if I was a prepper because of how many bottles of water I have. I laughed out loud. First of all, there are maybe 15? And we go through cycles. Sometimes the bottled stuff is simpler. Then we return to the refillables. He gets it. Or maybe not. I don’t care. (But I do feel guilty, carbon footprint and all.) 

He does insist I find another place to store it. I’m working on that.

We argued over cookware. He went through everything I own and noted duplicates. I already knew that. Still, he talked me into making choices. Some were easy, especially when I knew who to gift the extras to. That made it joyful.

The food processor? I hate it. Haven’t used it. Probably never will.
Stanley declared it an enemy of intuitive cooking. I felt seen. Relieved. Almost giddy.

The pasta maker for my stand mixer?
He looked me dead in the eye and basically asked, do you want to make pasta or write poems?

He got me there.

Now, the mugs.
I had already pared them down to what I considered a reasonable number, maybe ten? (Stanley knows the actual count. I forget.)

I offered to move a couple to the porch. He was enthralled by the idea. At one point, I think he considered advising moving me to the porch.

When I tried to hide a few mugs with “oh, a couple are in the dishwasher,” he said, “Let me see, love.”

Endearments don’t make it less bossy, Stanley. LOL.

So I’m putting two decorative ones on the porch and the two matching sets in the coffee cabinet. Which I also recently cleaned and organized. Stanley called it “in decent shape.”

Ahem.

That guy.

The stainless steel sculptural cooking utensil stand? Gorgeous, but does not fit the kitchen. I never use the tools in it. Too pretty. Too fussy. I know a home cook who will love them. Into the giveaway box they go.

Stanley accused me of storing almond milk on my decor shelf.

Joke’s on him.

The almond milk is in the fridge.

That’s…a box of sweetener.

Yes. On a decorative shelf. (I’m looking for a new spot.)

Stanley’s ultimate mandate (from me) is to help make my spaces clear and quiet so I can write better. To reflect my real preferences. He reminded me I’m a cook-from-your-heart kind of person. 

True.

Now, Dutch ovens.

I adore them. I have three. I probably only need one. But I want all three. I love seeing them, the 

shape, the colors, as I pass through the room. Red, white with a gorgeous gold knob, orange-red. 

I told Stanley this.

He said he understood completely. “I love you just as you are. Never change.”

Then he told me to put them in the baking cabinet or anywhere out of sight.

I protested. He relented. “Fine, fine. Leave one on the stove.”

(I know, since when is a stove a display area? But I like it there.)

The others are also still in plain view because Word Raccoon was on hand and sat herself right down in one and used the heavy lid as a shield to defend it where it sat. I gave her some gingersnaps for her service later. 

We moved on to the Revere Ware. I’ve had it for almost 35 years. It was a gift and it’s a workhorse set and I’m keeping it. 

I’m also not going to clean its copper bottoms any time soon, because it’s a thankless, impossible task. I’ve decided to find the tarnish charming. Come at me, WR says. 

Other beautiful stainless steel cookware? Painful to let go of, but I did. I won’t use it.

I have a medium and a small cast iron skillet. I rarely use them. But it’s a Southern thing. I must keep them.

Stanley agreed.

But when I suggested hanging them on the wall, he balked.

This is not a Cracker Barrel.

Which, fair.
But dang, Stanley. Why you gotta be so mean?

We discussed the two roasters, the deep skillet (that’s pretty much a wok), and the iced tea jar. We found a place for them in an inconvenient cabinet. They fit beautifully.

We sorted the two crocks of cooking utensils: one for stoveside use, one for elsewhere. Also weeded out the WTH gadgets that nobody really knows what they are. Hello, giveaway box.

He snarked that since apparently I store my baking sheets in the oven (oh, the tone he took with me!), then perhaps I’d like to continue doing so. Or, if I could be bothered, the drawer beneath.

At least he didn’t point out that it’s time to clean the oven.

We have not even opened the knife drawer. That’s going to require a conversation I’m not ready to have.

The kitchen is still a work in progress. It probably will be for weeks.
But I’m already eyeing wallpaper for an accent wall, inspired by a blouse I saw in The Roses.

(Which, by the way, is not birthday movie fare. Ask me how I know.)

Meanwhile, Word Raccoon is testing the teas we unearthed while sorting: sniffing, sipping, making dramatic pronouncements. She claims it’s about reducing clutter, but I suspect it’s her subtle campaign to protect the remaining mugs by putting them to use.

That’s my girl.