Somewhere along the line, we were able to find a meeting place between “prissy clean” and “post-tornado,” for the living room, only! But I was never fully able to focus on having a house that looked better than it felt. I may have even been the originator of the “lived-in” look in home maintenance and care. I have honed, to a keen edge, the art of closet jamming and I hold the speed record for doing so. The Guiness (Guinn-ness?” Book of Records has yet to recognize it.
I can toss three pairs of shoes, a banana peel, this morning’s coffee cups and a two-day-old plate of macaroni and cheese into a closet and have the door closed while unexpected guests are walking from their car to the front door. I have loaded the dishwasher with dishes from breakfast and lunch, as yet not scraped clean, into one already loaded with last night’s dinner things which may be washed. I am not sure of the time record for that, because the noise of the silverware’s crashing together may have distracted my timing sense. Similar things happen in the bathroom. With clothes hamper running over, a good place to put the surplus laundry is in the dryer. It can always be taken out and washed later. Please understand, I do all of this in the interest of pleasing my husband. I don’t want to upset him.
Back to the hen, I have discovered, over the years, that there is no egg gatherer for me, and that I have to clean up my own messes eventually. Unless my hyper-active daughter shows up and finds the above results of my tidying up and spends most of her time with me, cleaning up and misplacing almost everything she touches. Her intention, she says, is to place everything “in good order and convenient for use”.
In spite of my wanting to be a “brawling woman, living in a wide house”, I have come to be living in a narrow house (manufactured home, they call it). The shortness of a hen’s life is so much simpler than mine …and she can “fowl” it up as much as she likes.