Excuse the mess, but we live here!
‘I’m thinking of becoming a cleaner,’ I recently said to my kind and unassuming husband. ‘I’m fed up of working shifts and I need more time to write!’
My kind and unassuming husband did not answer straight away, but I knew he was thinking about this. He was rubbing his chin and thinking very hard. So I went to work and came back home again.
‘I’m definitely thinking about becoming a cleaner,’ I said as we sat down for dinner. ‘I’m worn out every time I come home. It’s not good for the creative mind!’
My very kind and unassuming husband looked at me sympathetically but he also had a sort of smirk on his face.....perhaps I shouldn’t say that, he had a wicked look on his face was more like it. Anyway, I asked him what he thought about me giving up nursing to become a cleaner.
It is only now, a few days later, that I can tell you what he said. I had to think about it a lot! You see, the reply he gave me came as a big surprise. He said that his advice would be to practice on our own house first, to see if I even like cleaning!!!
Well I couldn’t reply straight away, it took a moment to analyze what he just said and what it implied. I was trying my best to be diplomatic. This is at the advice of a very dear friend of mine. You see, I have a tendency to speak without thinking and the same often goes for my writing. My kind and unassuming husband thinks about everything he says, but I did wonder if he thought about what he just said to me. After all, the house is always welcoming and warm. There is always enough food to feed an army, home baked too! Yes, there are books everywhere and pots of paints and paper. And all things musical are left in random places. But it is home. It is the home for waifs and strays. It does not say take your shoes off before you enter (though sometimes I wish it did) and it does not say take your feet off the sofa (probably because they are aware of Jake and Jako) and it does not say excuse us while we have our food, it says join us for a meal, even though it isn’t prearranged.
I have to confess that I do not like cleaning all that much. A friend of mine even bought me a book on household hints, how they did it in Victorian times. I tried if for awhile, but it didn’t inspire me at all. This same friend has a strange fascination for housework and helps me out on occasions. I call her my posh au pair. She goes home with a box of vegetables and lovely fresh eggs, which she collects herself.
As I sat there picking at my food, thinking about all these things, my kind and unassuming husband placed a cup of sweet tea in front of me. He told me not to bother practising cleaning on our home, as he liked it the way it was. He liked the smell of the logs and the books and the paintings I leave everywhere to dry. He liked the fact he could discover a hen sleeping in a corner of a room or a cat curled up by the fire. He liked to see the herbs drying from the ceiling and jars of all things edible sitting on our shelves. He said I had made a wonderful home for us, and for all our waifs and strays.
And so to this I simply replied, that I had changed my mind anyway, I no longer wanted to be a cleaner for I was sure it would dust my mind of all things creative.
One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries. —A.A. Milne