Sometimes I feel like climbing into my linen closet and curling up by the ironed pillow cases and the bar of scented soap. It is probably the only place in all of my living spaces that is, at the moment, quiet and serene.
The rest of the house is in turmoil. That's the only way to describe it. Since we lost the tree in the backyard, our guardian of traquility and calm, I have been unable to get a grip on any of the chaos not only in the back yard, but also in my house. I sit and look at all of it, sometimes feeling that if I can just envision order, it will be done. I know it requires effort that goes well beyond looking, no matter how intense or analytical the looking may be.
There has been some headway in the back yard, most of it by hired experts. But there is still much to be done, and many corners that desperately need attention and the plain old hard work of digging up weeds, replacing sunburned plants, and reseeding bare spots.
The house has slowly filled up with magazines, and other things that come in everyday through the mailbox. And as I have made an effort to get started on containing the chaos by attempting to clean out a closet or reorganize a drawer, all I have managed to do is make a bigger mess.
I know this always precedes order and that in time I will manage to make more effective inroads on the projects both inside and outside, but I am not sure that any of it needs to be done in haste. As long as I can keep the kitchen counter reasonably tidy so we can put together a meal, and as long as I can wash a load or two of clothes now and then, I think we will be all right.
There are people who live ordered lives, I hear. I am not sure I know any of them.
I do think that for my sanity, though, I need to keep the pillow cases ironed and that bar of soap just where it is.
