Oh well, the older I get, the less guilt-ridden I feel
- col-lee-elliot-aging-graciously
- August 28, 2024
- 383
I was created to sit at the dinner table talking with my large family after preparing meat and vegetables and pie, to make music, direct plays, participate in sports, teach and write thought provoking words. There was nothing in my original contract about figuring out how to clean fly specks off white lampshades, scrub discolored grout or wash every smudge off the windows.
My time is meant to be spent making books of pictures for my children so they can savor the parts of their childhoods they have forgotten, crocheting little silver Christmas trees, growing vegetables from seed and experimenting to make gluten-free taste like it’s not.
I don’t recall hearing I had to feel guilty for practicing the piano as long as I wanted because I hadn’t wiped down the baseboards or for making a mess in the kitchen when I’m canning and someone drops by.
But somehow the guilt overtakes me and causes me to give up the things I want to do in favor of those I have to do, seemingly day in and day out. I realize I’m not telling those with sparkling clean houses anything new. They seem to love banishing every speck of dust and grime. It brings them happiness. I would rather be getting dirty in the garden and am probably in the major minority of those who don’t panic and give the dog away because it had an accident on the floor — I keep the Bounty Company in business — or because that same dog jumped on me with muddy feet as I was going out the door (changed my clothes).
Unless you sit in a chair with your ankles crossed and your arms folded 24 hours a day, the house is going to get dirty. If you have animals, probably very dirty. If your animals invite other unexpected guests like chipmunks, mice, birds or rabbits in, very very dirty, and if, well, you get it.
There is one kind of cleanup work I like to do: the garden and the yard. My efforts are visible for all to pass judgment on, and I’m not left wondering what a neatnik visitor has seen that I either tried to hide in the coat closet or simply ignored in lieu of making some homemade cards. As those who have had the experience know, my apologies are long, loud and profuse if they must come into my office, for while I am able to put off what I want to do to keep the rest of the house picked up, the office is one huge paper collector. Every flat surface is covered, and no matter how hard I try, it gets that way in only a few hours.
These days I am resolved to simplify, to cull, to get rid of all the things I haven’t used for a couple of years so I can perfunctorily dust and mop and scrub my way faster to the piano, the guitar and the hammered dulcimer.
Come to think of it: This is probably all just my own self-inspired worry because my house isn’t spotless. Oh well, the older I get, the less guilt-ridden I feel. In fact, I think I’ll end this and go practice a little Bach.