Cleaning house. I don't know why everyone seems to hate it so. I like it. Oh, the everyday gets repetitious and dreary, so it's not like I wake up in the morning thinking, Oh boy! Dishes. But then there are times like these.
I can't count the times I've moved over the years, but one thing I have learned from the experience. If you want to get to know a place, if you want to feel at home, if you want to stake your claim on a space and make it yours, clean it. Every last corner.
You learn the shape of the rooms, the condition of the baseboards, exactly where the heating vents are, the electrical outlets, the cable access. You know how deep the cupboards go and how far back the closets. And as you go, you are placing things there. Ummm, enough room for the bookcase, I think. And if I put the desk here, I bet I can see the mountain from that window on a clear day.
I'm not moving. But my daughter and her boyfriend and Sweet Caroline's Jams and Jellies have found another, larger home of their own.
Here, at my house, the corners are being swept, the bookcases cleaned out, furniture repositioned. Windows washed, cupboards organized, shelves rededicated. The mantelpiece will have pictures and candlesticks. There will be room for a tree.
The New Year will bring a new housebuddy, and once again I will share this space. But in the meantime, I'm getting reacquainted with my house.
I'm not moving. I'm reclaiming. And I'm having a whole lotta fun!