THE IMPORTANT THINGS

I Love You.

There is a difference in complaining and in reviewing days.

     I used to be married to a house, to everything in its place, not a dish in the sink, not a speck of dust anywhere and certainly no dog hair accumulating in the corners or floating in the air when the heat came on. If anyone needed anything I stopped eating or reading or mending and without them asking, brought it to them. My mind was just as busy plotting, timing, and noting everything around me. What gets done first? Second? Can I do more than one thing at a time and finish it all at once – like in home economics class where I learned to prepare a meal and have hot things hot and cold things cold to put on the dinner table? Of course, everything is possible!

     For years I spent Saturdays changing sheets, washing, ironing, dusting, vacuuming, shaking rugs, baking, washing windows and defrosting the refrigerator. Why? Why? Why? This is not what being a wife is about. I told Bruce I did not want to be married to a house. Housework became a mutual task, what one didn’t do, the other did without anything written down, no check list, no “it’s your turn to do the laundry.” It was a partnership and neither of us kept track of the division of labor. In the summer we used to play badminton (when our knees were younger) to determine who would cook and who would wash dishes the next night.

     It’s not a matter of getting older that decreases the time I spend on these tasks, and I admit I haven’t been a housecleaning whirlwind for decades. Now, there is only me and the dogs and none of it seems important. Things that must be done I accomplish.

     Sitting on the porch, looking out a window, reading, walking, creating art, playing with the dogs, listening to music, photography, remembering—these are the important things.

ART: Penfield, E. (1897) Harper's for June. , 1897. [Photograph] Retrieved from the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/2002720205/.