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Editor's note: This column was first published in July 2012.
I have no idea what possessed me to clean out the junk drawer in the kitchen - maybe the frustrated search for a Rolaid at 2 a.m. Luckily, I found a partial roll within the jammed jumble of stuff.
Re-examining the drawer in the cold light of day, I realized it had gotten away from me. I laughed, thinking that if I died tomorrow some lucky soul would clean this out and while making a sanity judgment about the corpse. They'd probably just upend it into a dumpster, not realizing the treasures within its corners.
When I moved to this house seven years ago and renovated the kitchen, I was never going to have another junk drawer. My new kitchen would be storage perfection. After all, I spent almost five years as a kitchen designer and I'm supposed to know about well-organized spaces, right? Well fuggedaboudit. Every odd, solitary item in my DFH does have its place to be: there. That drawer is a storage orphanage.
Visiting my daughter recently, I was wrapping a present and needed some Scotch tape. "It's in the DFH," she said.
"The DFH? What's that?" I asked innocently.
"The Drawer from Hell," was her reply. I knew instantly which drawer she meant. She just had a more appropriate name for hers. When I opened her DFH it looked a lot like my own back home ... maybe a little more densely populated with Legos, bubble blowers and unused balloons. I eventually found the tape - under a single pink mitten, in between the Swiss Army knife and a corkscrew.
Actually, My DFH began its life as the overflow drawer from the everyday utensil drawer ... you know, that uber-organized one that is filled with knives, potato peelers, and measuring spoons. You get the idea ... everything you need to put your hand on quickly, located right next to the stove. But everything didn't fit, so I moved the bulky items that I don't use every day into the overflow drawer. In went the ice cream scoops, the candy thermometer, the pineapple corer, the cheese planes, the nut crackers and the ice pick. I purposely added the orange-handled tack hammer and its half-brother, the orange-handled scissors because I needed to know their whereabouts at all times. I was proud that my overflow drawer with all its odd-sized occupants was organized. It took only a few weeks for it to become the Drawer from Hell ... and so it has remained.
When I began the cleanout, I realized the drawer had acquired layers. It was a lasagna of batteries, ribbons, three measuring tapes, ancient M&Ms, washers, pennies, paper clips, twist-ties and candle stubs (Hey, ya never know). There was the top of an old percolator, an antique copper candle snuffer, several rubber grippers for opening jars, and a brace for my tennis elbow. I haven't played tennis in twenty years, but who could throw that away? I might over-extend while stirring polenta.
I was amazed by the number of batteries. Only last week I had to buy AAA batteries because I needed just one. I must have done that more than once because there were four opened packages of AAA's, one pack of AA's, and a 9-volt. I could probably run the refrigerator on the power supply I found.
It was obvious that my DFH had also become my tool box. In addition to my trusted orange hammer, I unearthed three screwdrivers, wire cutters, and a pair of pliers buried under a jumble of coupons which expired during the Bush administration.
My grandson's wind-up scorpion lives in the drawer for his biannual visits. I like to pull it out, quietly wind it up and send it scampering across the island countertop while he sleepily eats his breakfast. Mr. Scorpion, it seems, had found a few companions in the drawer - a small china rabbit waiting for his ear to be glued on, and a broken Christmas ornament, a lamb. If this strange menagerie could talk, I bet they'd complain about the crowded living conditions.
As I approached the bottom layer - just before the crumbs, thumbtacks and pushpins, I began to find the Rolaids. Stomach acid beware - I uncovered a battle-sized supply – four unopened rolls and five partials. I moved some to my nightstand and the rest are going into a small zip-lock bag, never to scatter again.
As I surveyed the reorganized results of my junk drawer, I can't say it was with great pride. Guilt drove me to determine new locations for a few things. Some went into the trash, but most of it stayed, just lined up a little more neatly. I give it two weeks.
Update 2023: My daughter recently informed me that her DFH has been renamed. Her Scotch tape is now found in Satan's Portal. Says it all.
Marcy O'Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com