Today I actually spent the whole morning cleaning up my living room. I had been so busy the last few weeks that I have neglected everything other than painting and related tasks. At such times, the dining room table becomes (affectionately) my horizontal file, holding slides, magazines, unsorted mail, all which needs to be pushed aside at mealtimes. Before leaving for Montreal last week, I awoke very early and found myself folding and putting away laundry before the sun rose and I had to leave the house for a few days (again).
I had an interesting conversation with my dear friend Rowena recently. She was saying how she lets her house get a little more untidy when her husband is away. That she always leaves something, perhaps a teacup, on the counter, perhaps as a token of companionship. What kind of a life would you think I have had, what kind of a person am I by the way I keep my house in order, or lack thereof.
Rowena was saying that possibly someone who has everything in order may have nothing else to do, may lack connections. Maybe we feel sorry for them as there is no sign of ‘life’ and it is obvious that they are utterly alone. A clean and orderly house IS welcoming. Cleaning up is definitely showing movement. That something happened to make such a mess in my house is certain. But leaving it also shows a state of mind that is often seen as chaotic or what I usually feel, overwhelmed by all the presenting demands.
As a child (and I must admit, into my adulthood) cleaning up was never a priority. My mother would come into my room and empty the closet and dresser drawers and we would spend a day together putting things back with respect. I enjoyed our forays into order. I’ve always kept my kitchen in order. It helps in cooking without thinking too much. But my studio…………..I’d rather paint, any day. I do spend far too much time looking for something that I know is just “somewhere”.
But as time progresses and my life itself takes on more order, so does my house and cleaning up, putting things away, becomes easier. Usually. Cleaning up seems to be a way, in some sense, of making friends with mortality. I want my house in order when I die so that it will be easier on my children. I don’t want to feel I might want to apologize for my life. But there are always a few items that just don’t find a place. Like Rowena’s teacup on the counter, a reminder of the importance of a ‘life’ that is more than perfection.