Yesterday morning I got up early, as is my custom, came downstairs, blogged, perused other blogs, read the news, and decided it was high time I took a shower.
I do not like clutter. I don’t really care if everything is dusty, I don’t mind seeing other peoples clutter, but clutter in my house…drives me nearly insane.
I am always telling the chips “a place for everything, and everything in its place”, and as I was going upstairs, I turned to look and saw a mess on the table.
I began to get frustrated.
I paused to see who’s mess it actually was. The boy’s 2 drinking glasses, receipt from a pair of exchanged dress pants, and his fair book, the girls book, her reading glasses, some lip balm and my Netflix envelope.
As I was standing there, it occurred to me that, all the clutter on that table signified that there was life in this house. Someone lives here. The people leaving those things on my table create noise, they create laughter, they create a purpose, and they help turn a house into a home.
It struck me then, that in not the so distant future the only thing that will be on that table will be droopy flowers and dust.
Dust from unuse.
There will be no one living here to sit at the table and read, or put on lip balm. No pants to be bought and returned, no fair entries to be looked over and decided upon. No library books that need to be returned, and no one for me to say to “put your glasses on while your reading, you’ll ruin your eyes”.
Nope…the clutter doesn’t bother me quite so much anymore.