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The cupboard of plastic buckets is one I go out of my way to avoid opening. At all costs. It’s dangerous, things fall out at you, and there is no possible way to get them all back in again. No amount of ramming and cramming will suffice.

When I’m at home, sometimes The Mom will ask me to put the leftovers in a plastic bucket. I will search the countertops, and other cupboards, and will try and put soup in tinfoil to avoid opening that cupboard.

It is beyond unsightly. It is both absurd and possibly a health hazard. The lids and sometimes the buckets are sticky. For reasons that are not clear.

When I lived at The Mom’s, I tried to sort out the kitchen once. It didn’t end well. I gave up easily. But Crazy D seems to be approaching it from the right persepctive. Small bits here and there.

When The Mom told me that he was planning on sorting out that cupboard, I balked. It was impossible. I’d always imagined, when it came time to move The Mom out of her house, that we’d either throw a match on it, and drop the price by a few thousand dollars or make a clause in the purchase agreement that it came with the lids.

But I suppose Crazy D was feeling emboldened, possibly figuring that if he could deal with all the vagueries of his job – shifting kit and gear through Rwanda, Japan, Northern Canada – a simple cupboard full of unwanted, broken things shouldn’t be too hard.

The only flaw in his reasoning was timing. I learned the hard way that it’s best to do this sort of spurious activity when The Mom isn’t around. You don’t need much time, an afternoon is good. In fact, I think I might write them up a manual of how to get things done when The Mom isn’t looking. You might think that upon finding out what’s been changed in her brief absence, The Mom might set about changing things back to the way she had them. You would be wrong. She’ll complain about it if she’s bearing witness, but otherwise, perhaps a few glib comments at dinner, but she won’t expend the energy needed to put things back to the way she had them.

Apparently, this cupboard has now been dealt with. Most of the random plastic buckets, that are coated in a layer of grease and filth that no amount of soap and hot water can remove, have been tossed away. Crazy D’s supplements and powders are in their place. Which on the face of it sounds like an improvement. However, I foresee a day in the not too distant future, when The Mom will make a lot of something people really like, pasta sauce perhaps, or soup as it’s still freezing winter there, and she will have no container in which to put it.

This will cause problems. Because The Mom being The Mom, and keen on an easy solution to all problems, solutions that sometimes do not appear to be solutions, she’ll probably do something like put the whole pot of whatever outside in the garage. Which in and of itself isn’t an issue. The problem will arise when Crazy D decides he wants to make something and use the big pot that is now full of something delicious and sitting in the garage.

The machinations of decanting one thing into another before he can set about cooking will be so great and so involved that I suspect he’ll give up.

And The Mom, who is cagey, will probably then cackle and produce several of her best plastic buckets, the ones she saved from the garbage, for just such a moment.

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