It Was The Food On The Ceiling That Did It
Nothing beats a well-organized kitchen. Until you find food on the ceiling and you realize you can't explain how it got there. That's when the troubling questions start.
I wasn’t going to write a post today—or maybe ever again—but then I looked up.
Up at the ceiling in my kitchen.
There’s food on my ceiling. How, I wonder, did food get on my ceiling?
I don’t throw food on the ceiling. My wife and kids swear they don’t throw food on the ceiling. I rarely have guests in my house, but they don’t throw food on the ceiling, either, because if they did, I’d throw them out.
Food doesn’t throw itself on the ceiling, does it? No, I’m sure it doesn’t.
So just how did it get there?
And when?
And just what is it, anyway?
I won’t taste it—I’m not crazy—but it looks and feels like dehydrated grape jelly. We don’t have any grape jelly in the fridge. I don’t remember having grape jelly anytime in the last six months. And even if we did, how did it get on the ceiling, and why did I only just now notice it?
Am I that unaware?
And if I can miss something as obvious as jelly on the ceiling, then what else might I have overlooked?
Could it be something small, and insignificant? Or could it be something small, yet very significant? Something like the meaning of my life? Or whether I have a purpose? And, damn it all, why is there something that looks like dessicated grape jelly stuck to my kitchen ceiling near the recessed lights? And how did it get there? How?
I’ll clean it off, of course. I’ll take a damp sponge—one of these sponges that’s yellow and soft on one side and green and scratchy on the other side—and wipe it away. I could leave it there as a subtle reminder that life doesn’t always make sense, but I have a fairly nice kitchen, and I don’t believe fairly nice kitchens ought to have food on their ceilings. It’s a strong belief I have—although one that I wasn’t even aware of until I found food on the ceiling.
How is that you can believe something and not even know that you believe it?
And why did I decide to let you know about the food that’s stuck on my ceiling? I wasn’t going to post anything—not today, maybe not ever again.
What changed?
Why?
And why—WHY?—would you read it? Don’t you have something better to do? Don’t you have your own kitchen ceiling to attend to? Or are you actually reading? Have I simply imagined this whole thing—a blog, readers, comments—to alleviate the routine boredom of dealing with improbable and imponderable trivialities like cleaning food off the kitchen ceiling?
Now I’m looking up. Looking for…for…what?
Never mind.
I don’t know where the ceiling is on the Internet.
The Internet’s not anything like my kitchen. It’s not well lit, or well organized, or the least bit familiar to me. I pretend that it is, but it isn’t. Where’s the utensil drawer? Where are the drinking glasses, the plates, that old box of birthday candles, the flashlight, and the lighter for the grill?
Where should I be looking to make sure something’s not stuck where it shouldn’t be? Where?
My friend, I have sensed for quite some time now that you are grappling with something, perhaps many somethings, that leave you discontent with life.
I don’t really have any good advice to give you, and if I had any, God knows I would try using it myself, but I want to remind you of something you said on my blog last June…but first, I want to thank you for your loyal readership and most importantly, your friendship. You were always encouraging and supportive and there were many times when a comment of yours was just what I needed to feel good about myself again.
Here. You’ve already said what I couldn’t and you’ve done a much better job, too.
How do I respond to this?
Yes, it’s several somethings. I have said this before, but it bears repeating: Sometimes I am Pagliacci, The Sad Clown. I can’t help it, and I should be honest about it, although it’s quite hard to be honest about it. In a way, every joke is laced with a little sadness, don’t you think?
But your comment did for me what mine apparently did for you. I’d forgotten what I wrote then, but it was good advice. No, it was more than advice. It was a statement that somebody cares. Somebody noticed. Somebody wanted more. The words, the expression, the individual, was not ignored. I think all writers want this even if they don’t want to admit it. Capice?
Thank you grape jelly. And thank you for seeing the grape jelly and writing about it. You’re a great writer and I enjoy stopping by to read your musings. Keep musing. You’ve started a new adventure in your life or at least taken a turn, in going back to school. Keep us posted (ha, ha – a little blog joke, there.) The pics were a nice interlude – loved them. But I’m glad you’ve decided to get back to writing too. It’s what you do! Take care.
Nobody has ever thanked me for seeing grape jelly before. I feel very special.
I need some advice for my blog….I like your layout. Can you help me? 1 6 8
Advice is not my strong suit. Nor is blogging. But how can I help?
I can’t stay long. I must go check for my ceilings. Now, where IS that ladder?
The ceilings in your house are so high you need a ladder? I’m impressed. You must be very wealthy and live in one of them fancy houses with a loft and an attic and all…..
To answer your last question: my blog. That’s where you should be looking. hee hee
I enjoy your writing, but I understand the question: to blog or not to blog. It’s something I question a lot too.
But for me, it is a creative outlet. Really, the only one I have. I’m not a photographer, like you, I’m not a painter, or anything else artsty-fartsy.
So I dribble my drivel and try to laugh.
Lots.
I didn’t mean to sound like a whiner, although I’m perfectly capable of doing that, but I’m constantly wondering why I blog. It’s very time consuming, it’s not profitable, not very many people seem to care what I have to say (who can blame them?), and then there’s the whole narcissistic angle that I don’t even want to think about. But it is a creative outlet, and a form of self expression, and I do enjoy it. I think I might be addicted to it, in fact. I’ve just been feeling weird for the past few
decadesweeks.Dribble my drivel. Hah! That’s funny.
The food on my ceiling can wait. I had to read your blog post first. Sometimes, looking up is the most inspiring thing a person can do…uh-oh, there’s a cobweb. I gotta go vacuum now.
Oh, is it normal to have food on the ceilings then? That would make me feel much better. I really can’t figure out how it got there.
What do you mean by “I wasn’t going to write a post today—or maybe ever again….”?
I did get up to check my ceiling in the kitchen. I wonder why the ceiling in my kitchen is 1 foot taller than the rest of the ceilings in the house and why I never noticed this before? Wow.
I don’t know what I meant, exactly. I just stopped writing a couple of weeks ago, and I figured I might not start again. It’s happened before. I think I’m going to write, and do photography, and maybe I’ll even combine the two.
I’m glad I helped you realize that you’re kitchen ceiling is higher than rest of your ceilings. Strange, isn’t it?
For the first time ever I find myself grateful for grape jelly on the ceiling. For most of my life, I’ve been kinda ambivalent towards grape jelly on the ceiling, but if grape jelly on your ceiling can bring back your writing, I’ll come over every 6 months and throw some up there myself. It’s good to have you back, and I hope you’ll never consider giving up writing again.
I wasn’t really considering giving up writing. I just sorta stopped, and started thinking about photos instead. Then I thought perhaps I wouldn’t start again. It’s happened before.
I think we should take more time to be grateful for grape jelly on the ceiling.
Grape jelly on the ceiling? That is very strange. I must say that I dig that Kitchen Aide in the photograph. The color is fabulous and it makes it look like Julia Child’s kitchen. I want to tour the museum display of her kitchen. In the movie “Julie and Julia” the lead actress leaves a stick of butter at the museum in honor of the fabulous cook. But back to you…butter goes well with grape jelly. Perhaps you could toss some up on your ceiling.
Maybe I do have butter on my ceiling. I didn’t check the entire ceiling. Or the entire house. God knows what I might find.
Kitchen Aide mixers are the best, by the way. I believe they’re on display in many museums for the beauty of their design. I like them for looking new and old at the same time.
Are you a professional journalist? You write very well.
Well, professional might be a little bit of stretch, but I do get paid to write once in a while.
I’m so glad you looked up to discover grape jelly on your ceiling today. No one can write about a glob of dried, crusty food stuck on the ceiling the way you can….of course you should blog! Who said you shouldn’t?
Once I looked up at the underside of my coffee maker. The spot where the water sprays out, I noted that it was quite crusty with coffee pasty, dust, crud. I walked away and left it there. That’s all.
Look too closely at anything associated with food, and you’re likely to lose your appetite. And talk about high praise: “No one can write about a glob of dried, crusty food stuck on the ceiling the way you can.” I am the king of dried, crusty food writers!
Ваш сайт в опере не очень то корректо показывается
Translation: “Your site in the opera is not the adjustment is shown.”
Me and opera don’t mix.
Здравствуй! Спасибо за подаренные хорошие эмоции
Translation: “Hello! Thank you for a present good emotions.”
Hello to you, too! Glad you enjoyed your present!
LOL!
Oh, Michael… haven’t you learned by now to never, ever look up? That’s just courting disaster!
NOW I know.
You think the ceiling’s bad, take a look behind your fridge.
By coincidence, I did, Tuesday night. Wait until you see my screed on that one.