For the last three summers I have had the intention of cleaning my basement. It is cooler then, and my schedule lightens up. Makes sense, right?

It is not as if it looks like the Augean Stables. Just the accumulation of fourteen years of tools, Christmas decorations, suitcases, and abandoned projects. Yet every June, and July, and August I found reasons to stay on ground level. 

Last month I made a very modest decision. Every time I go down to rotate laundry, I will bring up one armload. It can be destined for the thrift store, or the trash bins, or the safety of our living space. But it is freed from the dungeon. 

After thirty days I have momentum. Not only have I not forgotten, I actually see progress. Shelves are not as crowded. The floor has less clutter. I have hauled small piles away, and remarkable to me, found a few things I like.

I decided to expand. Waking up Benjamin involves twenty minutes of cajoling. He moans from under the quilts about how hard it is to get up. I toss small tidbits about the day to entice him. But mostly I sit on the window seat. I decided to use the same strategy in his room. It has the archival remains of the three siblings who inhabited it before him, and I have gradually, oh so gradually, removed the novels, and photo albums, and high school souvenirs. Because my daily quota is diminutive, I can take one sock and keep going.

The concept of reconstructing a relationship is daunting. Where to begin? Paralysis is an easy detour, rather than face the baggage that weighs us down. 

I wonder if the daily tidbit system would work. It could be as simple as not criticizing before he walks out the door. Or smiling instead of eyebrow wrinkling. Every day could be unique, and still create a current of amelioration. 

Who knows, it might even unearth things I like.