It's So Obvious In the Morning

In our kitchen we have two tiny windows, one on either side of the stove. We had to special-order them, not because we absolutely loved their uniqueness but because I wanted cross-ventilation and the available space was very small. So hubby, to please wife, spent more money on these ten inch square panes that he did on the huge window over the sink. We were both pleased with the result, especially on the cool days when I can slide them open and enjoy the benefit we had in mind seventeen years ago.

What I did not anticipate was the brilliance of morning light that pours through these tiny openings most mornings. I keep a cut-glass vase on one window sill and it reflects the single sunbeam in so many directions it can be blinding. But the biggest surprise is the mess on the counters. Not mess from the light, but mess that the light exposes. How can that be there? I know I cleaned it last night. Or Ray did. Or one of the kids who cooked late in the evening. We do that. We wash the dishes and wipe down the stove and counters. Did someone come in and rub grease is circles on the counter top or sprinkle just a bit of salt by the back splash? If I'm going to have fairies visit, could they not clean up instead of mess up?

The problem is that we clean up in relative darkness. Sure, the overhead light is on, but that's not the same as the morning beams. I'm tired at the end of the day, more tired after preparing the meal and doing the dishes, and the efforts to clean the counters are routine. But in the morning beams every crevice is illuminated. The angle of the sunlight's entry lights up even dust particles. It's all right there out in the open.

So now I have a choice. Go back and clean more effectively with the benefit of this divinely placed light or turn my back to it so that it doesn't bother me and by midday I will forget it is even there.