Editor’s note: This column was first published in July 2012.

I have no idea what possessed me to clean out the junk drawer in the kitchen – maybe the frustrated search for a Rolaid at 2 a.m. Luckily, I found a partial roll within the jammed jumble of stuff.

Re-examining the drawer in the cold light of day, I realized it had gotten away from me. I laughed, thinking that if I died tomorrow some lucky soul would clean this out and while making a sanity judgment about the corpse. They’d probably just upend it into a dumpster, not realizing the treasures within its corners.

When I moved to this house seven years ago and renovated the kitchen, I was never going to have another junk drawer. My new kitchen would be storage perfection. After all, I spent almost five years as a kitchen designer and I’m supposed to know about well-organized spaces, right? Well fuggedaboudit. Every odd, solitary item in my DFH does have its place to be: there. That drawer is a storage orphanage.

Visiting my daughter recently, I was wrapping a present and needed some Scotch tape. “It’s in the DFH,” she said.

“The DFH? What’s that?” I asked innocently.

“The Drawer from Hell,” was her reply. I knew instantly which drawer she meant. She just had a more appropriate name for hers. When I opened her DFH it looked a lot like my own back home … maybe a little more densely populated with Legos, bubble blowers and unused balloons. I eventually found the tape – under a single pink mitten, in between the Swiss Army knife and a corkscrew.

Actually, My DFH began its life as the overflow drawer from the everyday utensil drawer … you know, that uber-organized one that is filled with knives, potato peelers, and measuring spoons. You get the idea … everything you need to put your hand on quickly, located right next to the stove. But everything didn’t fit, so I moved the bulky items that I don’t use every day into the overflow drawer. In went the ice cream scoops, the candy thermometer, the pineapple corer, the cheese planes, the nut crackers and the ice pick. I purposely added the orange-handled tack hammer and its half-brother, the orange-handled scissors because I needed to know their whereabouts at all times. I was proud that my overflow drawer with all its odd-sized occupants was organized. It took only a few weeks for it to become the Drawer from Hell … and so it has remained.

When I began the cleanout, I realized the drawer had acquired layers. It was a lasagna of batteries, ribbons, three measuring tapes, ancient M&Ms, washers, pennies, paper clips, twist-ties and candle stubs (Hey, ya never know). There was the top of an old percolator, an antique copper candle snuffer, several rubber grippers for opening jars, and a brace for my tennis elbow. I haven’t played tennis in twenty years, but who could throw that away? I might over-extend while stirring polenta.

I was amazed by the number of batteries. Only last week I had to buy AAA batteries because I needed just one. I must have done that more than once because there were four opened packages of AAA’s, one pack of AA’s, and a 9-volt. I could probably run the refrigerator on the power supply I found.

It was obvious that my DFH had also become my tool box. In addition to my trusted orange hammer, I unearthed three screwdrivers, wire cutters, and a pair of pliers buried under a jumble of coupons which expired during the Bush administration.

My grandson’s wind-up scorpion lives in the drawer for his biannual visits. I like to pull it out, quietly wind it up and send it scampering across the island countertop while he sleepily eats his breakfast. Mr. Scorpion, it seems, had found a few companions in the drawer – a small china rabbit waiting for his ear to be glued on, and a broken Christmas ornament, a lamb. If this strange menagerie could talk, I bet they’d complain about the crowded living conditions.

As I approached the bottom layer – just before the crumbs, thumbtacks and pushpins, I began to find the Rolaids. Stomach acid beware – I uncovered a battle-sized supply – four unopened rolls and five partials. I moved some to my nightstand and the rest are going into a small zip-lock bag, never to scatter again.

As I surveyed the reorganized results of my junk drawer, I can’t say it was with great pride. Guilt drove me to determine new locations for a few things. Some went into the trash, but most of it stayed, just lined up a little more neatly. I give it two weeks.

Update 2023: My daughter recently informed me that her DFH has been renamed. Her Scotch tape is now found in Satan’s Portal. Says it all.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com