I admit it: I'm into piles. Wait, wait: not THOSE kinds of piles...not the uncomfortable inflamed ones down in that unmentionable area...No, no. I mean piles as in assembled pyramids of paper. "To do" lists, Foodland receipts destined for the Museum & Archives, half a package of lettuce seeds to be planted two weeks after the first half...
those kinds of piles. The ones loaded with papers and objects and 'things' that just don't seem to fit into my filing system (which I really honestly have) or that need to be done
right away (or at least when they are re-found when the pile undergoes some sort of I'm-frustrated reno).
It used to depress me. Frustrate me. Nearly send me to drinking that wonderful bottle of red wine, if only the corkscrew could be unearthed from The Pile.
And having children just exasperated the whole Pile Thing...Suddenly piles appeared EVERYWHERE. And they weren't even of my making! A Barbie doll leg, appearing to have been chewed by a canine when we don't own one, in the corner of the bathtub, intermingled with something fuzzy that must have been some sort of body scrubber, and a Tonka truck; a screwdriver dancing with a brightly coloured hair comb on the corner of the kitchen table; six pairs of shoes beside the trampoline (left overnight...in a rain storm, next to the guinea pig cage, who was also forgotten outside... overnight... in a rain storm); three different types of tape (duct, electrical, double-sided), enough Canadian Tire money to accessorize our backyard patio, an overdue library DVD, and six unopened packs of cough drops on my husband's dresser...
Arggg...quick: where IS that corkscrew???
Looking about the desktop where I now work I see: Marjorie Harris' "Thrifty Gardening from the Ground Up" (a blessing from someone no longer 'thrifty' with their gardening techniques apparently), a mangled strip of half-used princess tattoos (birthday bag leftover), one blue dryer ball, obviously not in its home, three sticky notes with "I louve you" scrawled ever-so-cutely and ever-so-incorrectly, the open pen that scrawled them, some sort of Shopper's Drug Mart 3 million point internet card - still to be entered online, four batteries, half of a USB memory stick (yes, half), a heart-shaped rock the size of my palm, two library books, a half-used roll of blue hockey tape, a one-inch wooden dowel from a broken bouncy chair (there
were two dowels but I am too lazy to observe
under the desk)...and this is just the beginning...
Slowly I am learning that I am not solely defined by my house...slowly I am learning that although my brainscape reflects my household's mess status and vice versa it really doesn't
have to...leftovers on the counter half an hour after a meal and half-finished craft projects half a week later and a bowl of grainy chestnuts, ready to be planted for some scientific growth experiment, half a
year later....well, you get the picture...all of these don't HAVE to turn me into a broom-wielding, high-pitched wailing ninkimpoop, bubbling with exasperation and ready to blow, crazy-minded maidservant who can't even remember her own full name...
Phyllis Diller, bless her wild-haired self, once exclaimed that “Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the sidewalk before it stops snowing.” (Then again: she has also claimed to have buried a lot of her laundry in her backyard. And maybe even the bodies that went with those clothes?)
Some other great quotes I uncovered?
“Housework can kill you if done right.” Erma Bombeck
“No woman gets an orgasm from shining the kitchen floor. ” Betty Friedan
“Cleanliness is not next to godliness. It isn't even in the same neighborhood. No one has ever gotten a religious experience out of removing burned-on cheese from the grill of the toaster oven.”
Erma Bombeck
And perhaps my favourite?
“Excuse the mess, but we live here.” Roseanne Barr
***I'd written this over the summer, but after a brief adventure of getting lost in a bunch of piles, found it again....
