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Tuesday, 7 October 2014

a jarring experience

The most intimate of places in our home - let's face it - is not necessarily our underwear drawer, the bathroom cupboard, or even where we keep our jewelry.

No, if we're completely honest with ourselves, it's the kitchen pantry. 

Have you ever had someone helping you prepare a meal, only to cringe in embarrassment when they walk towards that cupboard? Because you know inside, there is that packet of pasta in a plastic bag with a hole in it. The box of cereal with the cardboard all ripped down one side and soggy on the other, That container of slightly wiffy - whatever it is - just behind the out of date vinegar. Pegs, rubber bands, hair ties, labels and paper stuck to the shelf.

Ok, maybe that's just how my pantry looked - until I decided enough was enough and I finally tackled it with the items I had been  hoarding  saving just for the occasion.

Now, I am not one of those blogging home goddesses that has glitter on their spray bottles and colour coordinated toilet paper holders.

I do not bedazzle, distress or ruffle.
I do bemoan, stress and shuffle things into out of way locations where they can not be seen.
But the kitchen shelves are on display and I do seem to collect spices and jars. So the two came together and exploded one day into a domestic goddess moment.

To achieve this, I spent an entire afternoon clearing, cleaning and trying not to contemplate what was running along the back of my shelves that looked like tar. Surely I hadn't bought tar? I can't recall the recipe in any case.

So I ordered a small alphabet stamp kit, picked up a stamp pad, purchased some craft tags and set to.

 The first week I tagged all the big stuff. Rice, pasta, flours and the like. These sit on open shelves so they had to look good. I used many tags, had to buy more. Washed so many jars, had to buy more. I was satisfied. I could survive the apocalypse. For a week or two at any rate.

But not being satisfied with that, I cleared out the tar infested (or whatever it was, let's not dwell on it) pantry and hit the spices and condiments.

For this I used sticky labels and kept hold of salsa and pasta sauce jars. I think it has a rustic appeal. 

So now when I am in the kitchen and someone is assisting me, no longer do I cringe. No more do I jump in front of the cupboard or distract visitors with a tap-dance. Never again do I have to invent recipes that consist of tar. 

For what was once the most intimate of embarrassing places, is now a domestic goddesses'  delight. 
For now it is shabby chic, instead of shabby eek.

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