Red Pepper Flakes

Red pepper flakes are becoming a real issue in my kitchen. The kitchen is the one room in the house that we share with Grandpa. He lives in his apartment at the end of the house. It really is a great situation and it all started 12 years ago when Grandpa was diagnosed with cancer, had to undergo a major operation and chemo and then started having heart issues that eventually led to a quadruple bypass. We sold our house and all moved in together. He has his space and we have ours but the kitchen is used by all.

Grandpa tends to drive me/us a little crazy at times for a variety of reasons. His health continues to be questionable as he continues to refuse to change his bad habits which have caused his numerous health conditions. He is the most serious, hardcore and inconsiderate smoker I have ever known. His 60+ years of smoking have lead to a variety of health problems. The one he likes to complain about the most these days is the fact that he cannot taste his food any longer. He also refuses to believe that smoking is the cause, but that is another story that might be told along with the story of his failure to truly believe that second hand smoke is harmful to others, especially kids.

His lack of ability to taste gave him the idea that if he saturates his sausage patties with black pepper and red pepper flakes that he might have a remote chance of tasting his favorite meal of each and every day - buttermilk biscuits slathered in butter and sausage patties. It must be working because each and every day there is a puddle of flakes on the counter, a trail of flakes across the kitchen floor to the microwave. The microwave is absolutely disgusting, to the point where I just pretend we do not have one anymore. At this rate, it will be completely covered in pepper flakes by the end of the year.

I am not sure why, but the site of his trail of pepper flakes has been making me increasingly angry. It could be that he does a.b.s.o.l.u.t.e.l.y. n.o.t.h.i.n.g. to clean up after himself. In fact, he does absolutely nothing at all anymore but sit and smoke in his apartment. I am sure it is hard getting old, and he probably does not even realize he is making such a horrendous mess day after day. The fact is, that even if he did, he probably would not care.

Somebody just shoot me if I get old and decide that I am going to spend my final years glued to a TV set, smoking like a freight train, eating fat and cholesterol packed foods, muscles wasting away and complaining about things that would improve my quality of life if I only made better choices for myself. Seriously!