Cleaning is my new guilty pleasure.
Of course, I’m joking. But ads suggesting this could happen are popping up all over the Internet.
There is a theory being voiced that if one tends to procrastinate and not clean house, it is not because of laziness, but possibly unresolved childhood issues. Just sign up and pay for the magical steps that teach you to clean for just a few minutes a day, and soon you’ll be loving it.
While I’m all for a clean house – who isn’t? – I have to confess that some of us creative types really need a little chaos to keep our ideas flowing.
The so-called clutter experts make the case that uncluttering your house means uncluttering your mind and therefore, you will be happier, maybe even healthier. The theory seems to be that if you have not used an item in a year, it’s time to toss it.
My late husband gifted me with his philosophy on the subject one evening, many years ago, while we were sorting through boxes of memories. Between my writing and his theater undertakings, together we had given birth to endless newspaper clippings, piles of scripts and notebooks filled with poetry.
“How could we part with this?” I asked my husband as I held up the baseball bat given to him by the Jfed Players for his role in “Damn Yankees.” With a gentle clarity in his voice, George asked me to set down the bat and close my eyes. “Now, can you picture it?” he asked. He said if I could, it would always be with me, whether I gave it away or not.
Somewhere between his hospital rooms, the campus guest house where I stayed while he was having surgery at UCLA Medical Center, and maybe even a restroom where it slid off my finger while I was washing my hands, was the birthstone ring that George gave me on my 50th birthday. He was very proud of that ring and loved telling me stories about his search for it. I would tell you that I never took it off, but reality proved me wrong.
The night before his funeral, I searched through all my purses, carrier bags, bedclothes, and looked under every piece of furniture. Dust bunnies, no ring. My thankfully cluttered mind traveled back past the sadness of his last few months to the many happy times we had during the years I wore the ring.
I could not fathom saying goodbye to him without that ring on my finger.
Yet I heard his words. “Close your eyes. Can you still picture it?” When I closed my eyes, I saw it. It’s full beauty and meaning, the square-cut stone nestled comfortably in the gold setting. I could feel the warmth of his hand when he slipped it on my finger. And I heard him saying, “If you can picture it, it will be in your heart forever.”
I think I’ll just stick with my cluttered mind.
Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her on Patriciabunin.com