I’m eagerly anticipating the day when I can describe completing my to do list as “getting my affairs in order.” You see, I’m reserving that kind of self-importance for the days when my “affairs” consist of more than binge watching Mad Men, sitting atop my counter while I lick a bowl of brownie batter (before it’s empty, mind you), and changing from one pair of pajamas to the next. It should be noted that the second pair of pajamas were quite the trade up.
On that day, in the somewhat near future, I’ll turn to Oprah and regretfully tell her that after lunch I simply cannot accompany her to her school in South Africa because “I’ve got to get my affairs in order.” Beg as she will, I simply can’t. There are affairs. And I’ve got to get them in order.
Without getting too wrapped up in the details, I think I can safely say that my to-d0’s will involve a chocolate factory, high tea, crumpets, and a petty cash account. Give or take two butlers, a chauffeur, and kindly housekeeper who can help me forget about the cleaning I did today.
If you’re anything like me, but let’s both hope you’re not, you can’t really concentrate when your home is in shambles. For me, even if I need to write ten blog posts, sign up for health insurance, and call Publisher’s Clearing House to claim that enormous check, I’ve simply got to sweep my floors first. Tackling the dust is an absolute must. My strategy: Creating small piles along the way so that I don’t have to drag the same clumps of dirt and hair all around my apartment.
Three quarters of the way through my dust piling, I might realize that the whole experience would be enhanced if Pandora were streaming a steady beat of 80’s music. I also realize that there are brownies that could, and more importantly should, be eaten. Pause for proper snacking. And before I know what’s happened, I’m dancing to “Jessie’s Girl” with a brownie in each hand. Those carefully mounded dust piles? Check my socks.
I move on to task number two. Calling up my landlord to ask them who (the hell!) designed the kitchen that’s equipped with approximately 89 stainless steel appliances, and could they please send that individual to my home to clean the fingerprints off of every square inch of surface area. Because by the looks of it, you’d guess that for the last two weeks, I’ve been doing nothing but rubbing my hands with olive oil and ketchup and then proceeding to grab each and every handle, lever, and knob. Twice.
When my landlord declines, as they always do, I roll up my sleeves and scrub til I can see myself in the stove,
and the refrigerator.
That kind of effort only breeds intense madness. A process that ends with me cleaning so furiously that I end up scouring my own sink. No one ever tells you to clean the kitchen sink. Clean it.
Then it’s on to windows, mirrors, glass, bathroom, sheet changing, and laundry. After all is said and eaten…I mean done, it’s time to dine.
Something quite satisfying is in order. A burger? I’ll do you one better: a salmon burger. Fresh wild Alaskan salmon chopped and mixed with soy sauce, lemon juice, grated ginger, garlic, parsley, sesame seeds, and panko bread crumbs- seared and topped with a creamy yogurt-dill sauce. Fresh, bright, and wildly flavorful, each bite filled with moist, flaky salmon and the crispy crunch of sesame seeds. I found myself complimenting my burger quite a bit at the dinner table. Giving it bedroom eyes more often than I should admit.