Cabinetry

   My wife has many endearing qualities, and hidden amongst them – probably only on the radar of those who know her well – is something akin to an organization fetish. It’s hard-wired in her DNA. She delights in finding attractive little containers, totes and bric-a-bracs that are perfectly sized and shaped for the job at hand. Every imaginable item around our house has its place, and if it doesn’t, worry not - it soon will.

   It’s remarkable that she tolerates coexisting with me because my wiring is way different. It’s a running joke around here that, if left to my own devices, I’d live in physical chaos, like a foil-collecting squirrel, with books and hand tools and god-knows-what scattered about, helter-skelter. It’d be like an episode of Hoarders. Sad to say, but I think that’s probably about right. My default physical space tends to be a reflection of my mental and spiritual space. Messy.
 
   I’m grateful. Truly. My wife keeps me in check. She’s the competent captain at the helm when it comes to managing our household. If it were me, I’d plow our ship right into a sandbar – or worse, an iceberg.
 
   “Let’s clean up the living room!” my wife will announce with glee. “Let’s get these recyclables out of here! Snap to!” And the boy and I jump in to help get it done. All hands on deck!

*          *          *

   Our kitchen has been a sore spot for my wife for the last dozen years.
 
   Where to begin?
 
   Imagine being in my wife’s shoes. You’re a highly organized person with a strong aesthetic sense. And you find yourself trying to live your best life in your home with a tiny kitchen that’s about what you’d find in a 1980’s off-campus college apartment that rents for $200 a month. Oppressively orange-ish stained wood all around, cabinet doors that frequently come unhinged to reveal near-inaccessible storage nooks and sagging particle board shelves. You get the idea.
 
   How my wife has managed to hold herself together this long, I have no idea. Well, I guess I’ve done a little damage control over the years, and maybe that’s helped. For example: A few years back, I yanked out the bar cabinetry – an extension of the countertop area that presented itself as more of a kitchen access trap than anything else. In addition, I punched a walk-through hole in the corner of the kitchen to connect it to the next room. And not too long ago I figured out a way to swap the fridge and range locations (easy enough conceptually, but electrically challenging). All that made for better kitchen feng shui, for sure – but it also nixed a lot of cabinet storage space. In went some wire shelves and temporary, folding tables where orange-ish cabinets used to lurk and sag.
 
   The captain was placated, but not tickled. Life went on, groceries were acquired and stored and consumed, meals were prepared, and so on - but something clearly had to give. I could feel a storm brewing.

*          *          *

   So, at the end of last year we bit the bullet, set all our oars in the water for a complete kitchen remodel. The time had come.
 
   Lucky for us, we have friends that recently had a great experience working with a local custom cabinet shop. Our friends suggested we pay them a visit, and we did.
 
   We had a nice tour of their shop – which was small but packed with modern woodworking equipment – spoke with the owner and his daughter (the lead designer), and saw some beautiful, finished cabinets that were about to go out the door.
 
   We were excited! Well, mostly excited. There was the small matter of cost.
 
   Now, when I hear the words “custom cabinets” I can clearly visualize dollar bills flying out the window on busy little wings, like barn swallows. Flap, flap, glide. Flap, flap glide. But, unfortunately, I had effectively painted us into a custom corner with my aforementioned demolition work. All the available spaces for cabinets were now willy-nilly, so standard-dimension kitchen cabinet kits were not going to cut the mustard. So, I tried to convince myself to remain open to the custom possibility.
 
   Lucky again: After the cabinet maker visited our house and made some measurements, it turned out that their quoted cost wasn’t off the charts at all. All said and done, we figured we’d end up spending about the same amount of dough at Home Depot if we went that route. Plus, the quality would be no comparison. And also: the custom cabinets would actually be fitted to our space rather than the other way around.
 
   So, OK. Disco! We were in!

*          *          *

   Fast forward to Thursday, two weeks ago. After a few months in the cabinet maker’s order queue, and a couple weeks of woodcutting the cabinets arrived. Exciting!
 
   The owner and two guys from the shop dropped them off with some layout drawings. The owner, Chris, hung out and chatted with me and my wife for a while after the other two guys unloaded the goods and took off. Chris shared some installation tips. I do like me some pro tips. Very helpful. But then the conversation shifted.
 
   “I saw your ‘Robert F. Kennedy for President’ sign down at the end of the driveway. Don’t see too many of those.”
 
    “Oh, I’m all in for RFK,” my wife answered snappily. The sign placement was her handywork.
 
   “You know, I’m glad to see an independent making a run this year. I’ve had enough of the Republicrats,” Chris said with a wink.
 
  “You and me both,” I said. And then continued, “We’ve liked RFK Jr. for a long time. The Kennedy’s are an interesting bunch – there’s the rich, entitled angle that can rub people the wrong way, for sure – but the rogue element is comforting, I think. Some system bucking wouldn’t hurt my feelings at all. RFK’s been an advocate for children’s health for a long time. And he wasn’t shy about pouncing on the whole covid thing.”
 
   Chris looked me over a little and said, “Yeah, covid. What a mess that was.”  He shook his head for emphasis and then said, “I guess I’m a Libertarian at heart. You, know being a small business owner and all, I think in really fundamental economic terms. People always do better without government meddling. That’s my way of thinkin’ anyway. Republicans and Democrats? They’re two sides of the same coin, if you ask me. I like that he’s independent. RFK, I mean. Maybe there’s some hope.” Chris paused and then added, “You can’t tell me that with either Biden or Trump or whoever in there that they won’t have the same people behind the scenes, calling all the shots. The same advisors. The same cabinets.”
 
   “You would know about cabinets,” my wife said.
 
   “Ha. That’s right. Sure enough,” Chris chuckled. “That’s one thing I can be pretty sure about.”

*          *          *

   I’m in the midst of installing the cabinets now. All the uppers are in place. So far so good.
 
   My wife is busily setting the shelves in place and filling them up, right as they get installed. The wire shelves and folding tables are no more. Our kitchen is steadily emerging from the dark ages. My wife is tickled. Me too.
 
   I’m taking a pause from the installation this week, though. I have some other work to do. And I have to do our taxes. Ugh.
 
   Taxes won’t be so bad, I guess. It’s just one of those things that has to be done. I’m still procrastinating, though, as evidenced by me writing this blog. I’m also daydreaming about having the cabinets all in place, looking sharp.
 
   I’m imagining having some company over and someone asking, “Those cabinets – Are they Amish?”
 
   To which my fantasy reply is, “No, they’re Libertarian.”
  
   –  O.M. Kelsey