The Pantry

My wife and I decide to take a drive to our new house. The last couple of weeks, my stepfather and I have been working to get it ready for the “big move”. I was planning to sand some of the sheetrock and maybe add a little paint to some newly added walls, but I am too tired today. Regardless, it is nice to walk around and appreciate the progress of our new home.

Upon entering the front door, I smell the strong odor of paint and sheetrock. I see a light haze that coats everything. As my shoes slide across the hardwood floor, I see a faint mist of chalky white powder fill the air around my feet. Two sets of shoe treads detail our path throughout the house. My wife points to some minor imperfections that she would like me to address, but my focus is on a particular part of the house. I assure her that everything will get fixed and “If I can’t see the minutiae, I still try to keep my eyes open.” She then draws her focus to the chandelier in the living room being too small, I reminded her of how short we are, and that it is okay if “we miss a great deal, because we perceive only things on our scale. The lights are out in the far corner of the room. “Still, a great deal of light falls on everything”. I can still make out a floor that is littered with various saws, electric drills, and hand tools. All of which, share the same distinct haze. The kitchen is the main area of focus for this trip, so I continue through the house.

I flip the light switch and “I see what I expect”. The large white tiles show some signs of age, but mainly they are just dirty. That is my impression, but “sense impressions of one-celled animals are not edited for the brain: “This is philosophically interesting in a rather mournful way, since it means that only the simplest animals perceive the universe as it is.”” The counter top is beset with lunch debris and the occasional beer bottle from the weeks prior, but the intense white of the new appliances add some needed contrast to an area of such disarray. To my left is a new structure. It’s a walk-in pantry that we are working on. I see freshly painted sheet rock with a new white door, much whiter with the tile, but on par with the appliances. It’s the little things that I may overlook that remind me that, “It’s all a matter of keeping my eyes open.” The freshly nailed baseboards have not been puttied or painted, but it is what is inside that has my curiosity. I open the pantry door and I realized that, “I had been my whole life a bell, and never knew it until that moment I was lifted and struck.” With a click that resonates in my ear, a fluorescent bulb above my head automatically illuminates. My stepfather had already completed the sheetrock inside and installed the pantry light. I see my wife’s eyes light up with enjoyment as she sees how this new addition has turned out. I see several spots of fresh sheetrock mud and a bright bulb that has a hodgepodge of wires hanging down from it. I start to contemplate the sanding that I will need to do inside of the pantry and how that haze that covers everything in the house will soon be covering my hands, face, and clothes. This will definitely be a job for another day.

After shutting the pantry door, I took a brief moment to admire the craftsmanship that was caught in my gaze. I went back into the living room, past the tools and across the dusty floor to the front door. “I reel in confusion; I don’t understand what I see”, but I am happy to say that this is going to turn out to be a great house. I locked the door and we went home.



Annie Dillard. “Seeing.” From Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. Copyright 1974 by Annie Dillard. Reprinted by permission of Harper-Collins Publishers inc.