I have a secret that’s even surprises me: I love cleaning. You wouldn’t know it if you wandered through my house or rode in my car, but it’s true. There’s something about making dirt, clutter, disarray and unruliness vanish that does my heart good when a corner, drawer or room comes to order. If I play the right music (Joni Mitchell was made for cleaning out closets), I’m downright calm and joyful the whole time.
This weekend, between napping and reading magazines, I’m cleaning, Ken too (nothing more sexy than a man with broom or mop). With the temperatures low, the animals splaying themselves on the floor of whatever room we’re in, and the crockpot doing its magic, it just feels like time. I’m back from a whole lot of travel and work, starting with the Goddard residency in February that morphed into Poet Laureati, another Goddard residency, and the insanity some like to call “April” that finally dissolved in the deep pockets of love at Brave Voice.
There’s the recent past, but there’s also the recent future. Daniel will be moving back into this house in a wee bit over a week. My mom is coming on Friday. Between these two happinesses, Daniel is graduating. It’s his rite of passage to do whatever they do at Bethel during graduation (I think a large rock is involved); it’s my rite of passage to scrub the stove and excavate Forest’s room so that it can be Daniel’s room too.
So here’s for what we can do with large black plastic bags, boxes, vacuum cleaners, carpet stain recover and blasting “He Played Real Good For Free” on a cold Sunday afternoon