Many a homemaker has despaired of ever living in a place of beauty. There is always something to be cleaned, something to be fixed, something to be cooked…which leads to many more things needing to be cleaned.
Some pragmatists find it necessary to opt out of the Sisyphean struggle for order in the home. Laura Vanderkam, a productivity and time management expert, long-time blogger and author, and mother of five, has proclaimed that women need to rid themselves of the self-limiting belief that they should make things “look pretty.” There is something to be said for that perspective.
If a homemaker wants to accomplish anything other than incessant cleaning, surely accepting a certain amount of mess and disorder is necessary. There are some notable examples of this approach.
Reports indicate that philosopher and mother of seven Elizabeth Anscombe, strained by tight finances and an expanding family lived in a state whimsically called “academic squalor.” When someone asked how she managed a household amid the challenges and demands of her work, she said, “You just have to realize that dirt doesn’t matter.”
What an invigorating thought. Equally inspiring is a description of Anscombe’s lectures, which were “legendary for the beauty of her voice, the foulness of her language and the depth of her thought.” For any mother aspiring to serenity yet occasionally struggling with a penchant to cuss like a sailor, this is music to the ears. Then again, presumably, her young children were not attending her melodious lectures.
On the other hand, Julie Phillips, in her book “The Baby on the Fire Escape,” recounts an anecdote of Anscombe being so immersed in her own thoughts that she left a child sleeping in a stroller on the train platform. That’s an otherworldliness that would not come upon most of us without affectation and is not, in the end, a level of maternal disinterest that we should aspire to.
There is a way of life beyond a fixation on such impossibilities as once and for all organizing the pantry, of “finishing the laundry” (while everyone continues to wear clothes), of perfecting the meal plan/the schedule/the bedtime routine. It does not necessitate living in filth and disorder. Call it the middle way of homemaking.
When someone comes through with a mop every once in a while, it makes a world of difference. Changing out the linens, laundering mysteriously discolored shower curtains: all these little niceties require you to notice the dirt and do something about it. But we’ve already established how undesirable it is to live in constant awareness of what needs to be done.
One possible solution is a time set aside for “puttering.” It’s the nonspecific tidying and cleaning that makes such a difference to the ambiance of a space. From emptying the crumbs from the toaster to wiping off crayon marks on the walls. To do these things constantly would be unfulfilling madness for most of us. But setting aside an hour or two of an evening or weekend morning for the accomplishment of such endeavors is a commitment to puttering from which we all benefit.
In puttering, having a specific spot that is set aside for regular tidiness is also a great boon to happiness in the home. Whether a specific shelf, countertop, or furnishing that is clear of miscellany, wiped down, and in relatively good order, there is a spot to rest the eye and feel the peace of a well-kept home. Even if the rest of the place is a minor disaster, one corner can be an encouraging vision of order.
In closing, there’s a joke that seems at first irritatingly corny but in retrospect has a lot to recommend it. Much as I tried to poo-poo it, the joke comes to mind now and again. The joke goes that a couple with several children invited childless acquaintances to their house. The acquaintances visibly recoiled at the dirt and clutter, noise and general chaos of the home. It’s not that it was filthy but simply filled with rambunctious activity that the childless couple was not used to.
Noticing their discomfort, the family suggested they go tour the house next door, which was much neater. They entered a pristine sitting room, carefully vacuumed and dusted, each decorative item unbroken and in its rightful place. The couple relaxed and commented on how peaceful the second home was. At this the family informed them, “This is a funeral home.”
It’s corny, undeniably, but it is memorable. When jackets are mysteriously falling off of designated hooks and shoes are in a bizarre and inefficient rotation due to growing feet and muddy conditions, when the end of the day finds greasy pans in need of cleaning, we would do well to remember that in some places there is just a lot of life happening. Nothing an hour of puttering can’t improve.
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