One of the ‘rules” I have here on the farm is that when the weather is yucky, I must get caught up on inside chores. You know, laundry, dusting (where DID all those spiders come from?), vacuuming the large tumbleweeds of dog wool that enjoy hanging out in all the nooks and crannies of the farm house, tidying endless clutter…
Housecleaning has never been my favorite chore. I would rather just sortof tidy as I go, enough so one can see the floor and find the coffeemaker. This was easier when I was in, say, my twenties and the kids were small. Clutter didn’t seem to bother me.
Now, however, I find I actually get a little twinge in my stomach when I see clutter come creeping out of the spiderwebby corners and settle on my diningroom table, my kitchen counters, and my office desk. Isn’t that weird? Time hasn’t turned me into a neatfreak, but it has made it so I actually feel bad if the house is untidy.
I do my cleaning up in spurts. This confuses and excites the dogs. Every time I get up quickly from behind my computer to go change over a load of laundry or head to the kitchen to scrub that final pot, I am followed by three German Shepherds happily wondering what bizarre and wonderful things I might do next.
I would rather be outside, puttering in the garden, laughing at the antics of the five piglets, or picking calendula blossoms. I usually prefer to spend my afternoons reading, an icy cold glass with ginger ale and sliced lemon on the table beside me and snoring dogs at my feet.
Today it’s overcast and muggy, with air so damp you can just about wring it out like a dish towel. So today I prefer to stay inside the farm house with the central air on, making occasional mad dashes through the house to make the bed, or wipe the bathroom counter, or haul laundry downstairs, or slice two more lemons.
You know, to prepare for my afternoon chore of reading a book.