Becoming A Crumbophobe

This is one of those posts where I wonder the whole time I write it if I’m going to regret it. I wonder, too, what’s driving this weird urge to publicly share random information about myself. It’s not even juicy information. There’s an impulse to “think aloud” and an appreciation for candidness that have been shaken and stirred.  That’s as much as I can figure out. And yet I’m cautious about unforseen consequences, a.k.a. Emily Gould who revealed her own lessons in telling all in yesterday’s NYTimes magazine.

So then…my angst about crumbs. It started several weeks ago.  It kind of exploded overnight.  I don’t know if if has something to do with the Roquebrun house being an older house or that it’s somebody else’s house or just the latest incarnation of latent OCD tendencies.  What I know for sure is that I never noticed crumbs on the counter to this degree in Atlanta. It’s not that I didn’t see them or that I didn’t attend to them, I just wasn’t so aware of them.  Some people spot old stains on shirts, or have a cold eye for scuffs on shoes. I’ve become this crumbophobe, who will drop everything to wipe the kitchen counter if I notice bread bits hiding on the dark side of the toaster.

At one point in Atlanta, our house was populated with a bevy of shedders – three cats, one dog, one man with lots of leg hair, one woman with longish hair (on her head). We were a clean but hairy household, and so I was pretty diligent with the vacuum. Diligent, not vigilant.  And, I never felt as if the hair had the upper hand.

This issue I have with crumbs has developed new symptoms.  I’ve become increasingly “concerned” with with the status of all flat surfaces, like the floor.  I sweep the kitchen at least twice a day. And, it’s always dirty, because the village is surrounded by vineyards.  Vineyards are, by nature, dusty places.  So, the math is pretty straightforward: dusty fields + steady and often stiff breezes + open windows = dust everywhere. At least with the breadcrumbs I know that it’s a controlled source:  our daily fresh baguette. When we eat the baguette, the crumb perpetrator is gone.

On a saner note, here’s a picture of our first French furniture purchase which was delivered today:

We bought it from a Brocante (used furniture) shop, and the grand plan is to strip it down to a more natural finish.  It’s a big solid farm table, and even if it turns out to be oldish and not an antique it’s still a good find.  Tim and the dealer had to carry the thing up the hill to the house, because the lane’s too narrow for his truck.

We haven’t yet found chairs to go around it, but there’s no rush.  You wouldn’t believe the layers of dust in the shop where we bought it…but I’m not going to go there in any detail, because this crumb/dust problem of mine needs some boundaries.  Once upon a time, I was someone who needed written reminders to spritz cleaner on her computer keyboard.