I live in a small home with an even smaller but functional kitchen.

About a month ago, I dropped my container of coffee grounds, spilling them all over the kitchen. I swept coffee grounds from the stove, from the floor, from the nooks and crannies that seem inevitable to mulitply in a small place.

Tiny brown specks have appeared for over a month, crawling out of the strip between the stove and the countertop nearly every day. I would think they were gone and there they would be again at times bringing frustration and others smirks of laughter. 

Last week I spent a day doing a thorough cleaning of the whole house, getting into each and every space and doing a very thorough and satisfying functional reset.

It’s interesting that whenever I do this, I become deeply reacquainted with all the tiny nooks and ledges in a way that will last for weeks. I am constantly swiping and wiping as they seem to appear anew. It changes my perspective in a way that for at least a short time causes me to obsess about my stuff and my space.

They were gone, those tiny small flecks, finally, gone!

Yesterday, I decided to do a quick clean this week, scheduled for this morning. I’m always curious that I hear people in small spaces say it takes so much less time to clean them but that never seems the case for me and today I wanted to challenge myself to not get caught up in the minutia.

This morning, after a scrub in the shower, I languished in spreading lotion over my feet and legs.

Then I made coffee. Started the kettle, placed a filter and reached for the cannister of grounds.

I watched wordlessly as the cannister slipped from my softened fingertips.

Coffee grounds splattered over the kitchen countertops, into the spaces between the sink and the countertop, that familiar place between the counter and stove and finally peppering over my still drying feet and floor. For good measure it landed in a few clean cups and I later even found some on my plates that reside in a closed lower cabinet.

I’m a coffee lover, but not a snob. I hate to grind beans. I hate the mess, the tiny specks. The millions of tiny specks.

The tiny, perpetual, specks. Everywhere.

And yet here I am. It is what it is. If there's no need to cry over spilt milk, there's no need to fume over spilled coffee grounds.

I spread coffee and giggled as I walked to get the broom as little tiny brown flecks crunched under my soles.

Sometimes it feels like all the little struggles and challenges are tearing you apart and down. And sometimes it's just a reminder to not take every little thing so seriously.