You may not be impressed. But you should be considering how dire it was getting. I am allergic to cleaning, which complicates things. Asthma is my scourge and the day after tackling the dust in one room, (a total of three empties on our vacuum which has a handy dump feature rather than replaceable paper bags), I was wheezing like an eighty year old chain smoker. 

 

It was the tipping point, and I have lived to conquer the bathrooms, halls and dining room. The kitchen is in my near future. So far I have  lugged fifty pounds of surplus clothes and books to the thrift store. The coat closet has been liberated from too small snow pants, a broken music stand, unmatched boots and out of season sports equipment. Surprisingly, there is ample room for... coats. 

 

Housal hygiene has always been a weak point on my resume. One time when the first string of kids still thought I was smart we drove past a pristine neighborhood. A child in the cheap seats had a solution. 

 

I did not throw water on his perfectly reasonable suggestion. But I knew the flaw in his thinking. If we moved into one of those immaculate residences our stuff would go too.

 

One of the problems with leaving one relationship to start another is that we take our stuff with us. John still cringes at the thought of a wedding he performed for a woman who had been married two and two half times before. She still had the top of the wedding cake from her last reception in the freezer. He believed her when she assured him with enormous brown eyes that this time was different. This marriage was spiritually based. Her fiance even had a religious name. David.

 

I liked waking up this morning in a pleasing space. It was dark, so I could not see the corners but I knew. I breathed deeply before slipping out of the warm sheets. 

 

I didn't even mind that John vetoed my request to toss the music stand. He intends to fix it. Someday. 

 

Photo by Kristin Kinsey

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