It was a quiet and tranquil morning

I woke to a tidy kitchen.  A clear kitchen counter.  Not a pair of socks to be found on my breakfast nook.  Baroque music wafting from the living room, the sun beginning to rise in the dark November sky.  Outside my expansive kitchen window shadows  start to shift and fade in the emerging morning light.  The perfect morning to start a reinvigorated regime of calm, quiet, thoughtful presence.

I pick my alphabet writer’s cup from the cupboard, “hot” the perfectly formed cobalt blue teapot, choose the English blue floral creamer to set on the counter in front of the picture window, beside my lovely European cast metal bar stool and it is all so picture perfect, it almost takes my breath away.  And I have high standards these days, having traded in my various Home Decor and Garden subscriptions for the upgrades:  Veranda.  Architectural Digest.  Border Crossings.  I will puruse the Globe over a healthy yogurt, wheat germ, berry and banana protein shake.  I will stretch cat stretches and do football player push ups on  my Nike yoga mat this morning, I will shower with the luxury of fine Scottish soaps and creams –the Poetica line-  my new favourite.  I will take the car in for an oil change and rad flush, choose the just right colour –  I’m leaning towards Benjamin Moore’s Grey Owl and will decide at the Benjamin Moore open house I am going to this afternoon with my Decor Club pals–for the hallway and living room, plan the renovation of the downstairs powder room, and begin my Christmas decorating today- starting with composting the three pumpkins and one Jack-o-lantern that now grace my front stairway.  Yes.  It will be a perfect day (with unseasonably warm temperatures).

First, the breakfast shake.

It’s a different  blender, as my son has moved out and taken the one I am used to…the one I gave him one Christmas.  I’m not familiar with the buttons.  It looks a little off centre, but no matter!  I have the frozen bananas, the frozen black berries, the yogurt, the wheat germ, toss in together and …voila.  Nothing.  The buttons are stuck.  I turn to find the manual in the burgeoning cookbook and appliance manual cupboard, and when I turn back, there is milk running out of the blender, down the counter to the floor.  What the…!!?

I toss the blender in the sink (carefully)  clean up the counter, the floor, and then open the door to slide the garbage container out — possibly with more rigor than usual– and it comes out- slider mechanism and all– and lands on the floor.  So I pull all the under-the-kitchen-sink paraphernalia out, grab a flashlight and determine that the screws have rusted and pulled out and need replacing.  So I go to what I like to call the butler’s panty ( a strange little closet off my living room) to find new screws and when I’m there, I find the French wall clock my son gave me-  which fell off the wall one day and is the butler’s pantry awaiting repair, two other wall clocks I purchased on an interim basis and hated mostly because of the very loud click click they made each second, some high school grad pictures of my son and me which I tucked away awaiting the perfect frames, piles of lovely boxes which came to me with gifts inside- boxes I fully intended to reuse, wayward Christmas decorations, summer decor items, nick knacks, old magazines, candles (assorted colours and styles) , candle holders (seasonal themes) miscellaneous electronic accessories, cable, bubble wrap and gift wrap as well as gift boxes– including a gift box with silver jewellery I had intended to give as a gift– and eventually, my screws, nails and hardware organizer.There were no appropriate screws to be found, and I closed the closet door, oh perhaps with a little more rigor than usually, and the Baroque channel on the television abruptly went off.  Lost signal.

I sit down.  Around me piles of gift boxes, a stack of decor items (including the two almost identical wall clocks) candles and a broken reindeer ornament. Is this too early for a shot of whiskey?  Too late to go back to bed? This perfect morning is killing me.

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