On October 31, 2013, we moved into this home. Shafts of autumn sun pierced through the windows that day, illuminating the kitchen. Granite counters gleamed in the soft golden light. The kitchen was empty but full of promise. The polished rock whispered of wine glasses and fruit bowls, of orchids and hors d'oeuvres. Fast forward two years and listen. You'll hear the granite whisper no more. Instead you'll hear it bitch about spilled milk and dried paint and bread crumbs in the corners so old, they've petrified. You'll hear it groan from the burden it bears, as appliances piled up and cluttered its mottled slab. You'll hear the granite whine about its dull visage as it reminisces about "The Shiny Years." My granite may no longer be the belle of the ball, but she shouldn't have to suffer the indignities I've put her through these past few years. I decided to restore her to her former glory. There was only one problem: where would I put all the appliances in order to reveal her bare and simple self? I couldn't put them in the cabinets - they were all full of crap. Full of crap....hmmmm. I squatted down, knees popping in protest. I opened the cabinet doors and looked into their depths. My suspicions were confirmed. They were full of crap! I took a quick inventory of the biggest double cabinet and realized that I'd only been using maybe 3% of its space - just a little corner in the front where I kept my barbecue thermometer and muslin bags for straining yogurt. The rest of the space was filed with piles and piles of crap that I hadn't touched in two years. I even found two packages of ice cream cones that I'm pretty sure I bought before we moved in. It was time for action. *Affiliate links used in this post*