The Case of the Missing Tupperware Lid

When we moved from Ontario to Bucerias, we sold everything we owned. Big things such as our house and cars and little things like lamps and plant stands. We held garage sales over several weekends and eventually managed to dwindle our inventory, like George Carlin’s “Stuff”, accumulated along a combined life span of one hundred and twenty years. Lots of weird and wonderful gadgets and knickknacks.

Our five children had first pick of household necessities. One received the food smoker, one the BBQ, and another one took the lawnmower and snowblower. One ended up with our big screen TVs while the youngest inherited various appliances.

In offering to disperse particularly “special” pieces, I faced a disappointing surprise. All items I figured were sentimental; the kids didn’t want. I thought the desire to possess family heirlooms would be so great it may have been necessary to draw names. What about the set of china that belonged to your Dad’s favorite Aunt? “No room.” Who wants the antique sewing machine? “Not my decor.” I saved your baby blanket, thinking you’d like to have it one day. “Groan.” Well, we can’t just give away Great Grandpa Leroy’s pinochle board to a stranger!

“Mom, we don’t want that, either.” Things I’d been lovingly storing for decades, with endearing thoughts of eventually and ceremoniously handing down, ended up being delivered to the nearest Salvation Army store. Sigh.

Hardly treasures, though, I had no trouble parting ways with the abundant decades-old collection of reusable food containers overflowing from a kitchen cupboard. Tupperware, Rubbermaid, or no-name, I believe all lids and bases somehow procreate in kitchens around the globe, overtaking otherwise tidy food preparation areas and frustrating those on after-dinner KP. Akin to searching for the missing sock that went into the washing machine but didn’t come out, finding a compatible top and bottom that actually provides a seal is a dubious task.

Oh, I know you can buy nifty cupboard organizers, perhaps something that allows you to store lids by size and bases by color, but I was determined to minimize our kitchen stock when setting up from scratch in our new Mexican home.

We would no longer live with items we didn’t need or use. With more space than I used to have, everything now has its spot. No more crowding. Colorful Mexican dishes and glassware; toaster; coffee maker; utensils; serving bowls and platters; cookie sheets and muffin pans, all things necessary for a gourmet cook, (my husband, not me!), including a tiny section in one drawer for food storage containers. Life was simple. Life was good. Screeching halt.

After only two years in our “lessened” kitchen, I am already searching and digging for lost lids. Refusing to do this all over again, I realized it was time to purge, downsize, and rid the drawer of useless pieces. I hung them in a bag from our mailbox and was happy when someone picked them up. I recall hearing a phrase from when I was a kid, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure”. I hope they come in handy.

Time to put a lid on this story!