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Housework
I had a cold. It went away. Then it came back again. In the brief interval when I didn't have a cold I got all fired up and did some housework. "There you are," said Ailz. " You stirred up all that dust and now you've given yourself rhinitis."
Could be.
Can I use this as an excuse for never picking up a duster again?
No- because there are little pills to treat the condition. I've just popped one. And actually I'm quite a fastidious person. I don't mind dust and think piles of books and papers enhance a room- but I don't like it when things become sordid and start to smell.
A house is an expression of the self, a second body, a vehicle for personality- which is why novelists think it worth describing the rooms in which their characters live. A tidy room shows a tidy mind. Francis Bacon, the painter of screaming popes and decaying flesh and men humping one another on rumpled beds, lived in an absolute pigsty- as you can see from pictures of his studio. Well of course he did.
Ailz sometimes mutters darkly about hiring someone to come in and clean. I react with panic. I don't want a stranger handling my things. Everything is just where it ought to be until I choose to rearrange it. Bleaagh, get your mucky hands off!
Ailz, I should hasten to point out, is no tidier than I am. She may in fact be worse. And most of the time she's quite happy to live in bohemian disorder. It's just that every so often she gets these cravings for the house beautiful- which I dismiss as an atavism.
We keep one room all neat and tidy for receiving guests. It's very nice. And- guess what- we hardly ever use it. I took a book in there yesterday and sat for fifteen minutes or so in a comfy chair- then got up and left. I missed my clutter. The prettiness made me feel uneasy.
The room we mainly live in looks like this.
It's home. And as long as there's still a space where I can safely balance my teacup I don't see any need to change it.
Could be.
Can I use this as an excuse for never picking up a duster again?
No- because there are little pills to treat the condition. I've just popped one. And actually I'm quite a fastidious person. I don't mind dust and think piles of books and papers enhance a room- but I don't like it when things become sordid and start to smell.
A house is an expression of the self, a second body, a vehicle for personality- which is why novelists think it worth describing the rooms in which their characters live. A tidy room shows a tidy mind. Francis Bacon, the painter of screaming popes and decaying flesh and men humping one another on rumpled beds, lived in an absolute pigsty- as you can see from pictures of his studio. Well of course he did.
Ailz sometimes mutters darkly about hiring someone to come in and clean. I react with panic. I don't want a stranger handling my things. Everything is just where it ought to be until I choose to rearrange it. Bleaagh, get your mucky hands off!
Ailz, I should hasten to point out, is no tidier than I am. She may in fact be worse. And most of the time she's quite happy to live in bohemian disorder. It's just that every so often she gets these cravings for the house beautiful- which I dismiss as an atavism.
We keep one room all neat and tidy for receiving guests. It's very nice. And- guess what- we hardly ever use it. I took a book in there yesterday and sat for fifteen minutes or so in a comfy chair- then got up and left. I missed my clutter. The prettiness made me feel uneasy.
The room we mainly live in looks like this.
It's home. And as long as there's still a space where I can safely balance my teacup I don't see any need to change it.
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I sometimes say that I'd like to live in a minimalist environment- all plate glass windows and plain white walls- but I wouldn't really.
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And guards it fiercely.
My bro-in-law had to break in a month or two back(when my niece was out of the country) because all the knives and forks in the house were festering under the piles of discarded clothes and stuffed animals.
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That's what I think too.
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I have lots of little nic-nacs, too- collected from places I've been. And lots of fiddly little things. Those little things threaten to overtake me, and I have to regularly go around with a shoebox and clean them away lest I get buried in them. They're the Perfectly Good little things that tend to hop into pockets, totes, handbags, and things and come home with me.
I do keep my home at a certain level of order, though. You will never find food or food containers anyplace else but the kitchen or dining room. Same with drinks. Clothing is restricted to the bedroom, as are shoes. I don't like to see clothing or dishes out of place. The floor is kept clean, too- while I have my magazine bins lined up in the living room, the only things permitted on the floor are cat toys. If I toss something on the floor, it's a signal for me to clean it up, so when I sort through paper, I'll create a floor-pile, because I must dispose of it.
The dining room table is the main battleground between pristine emptiness and the paper piles. The paper usually wins. My Dream Home will have a second large table besides the dining room table to spread papers on. It'll be in the office/library.
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(And yes, it really was their decision. We were quite happy having them downstairs with us, but they up and left us and colonised the spare bedroom and we thought, "well, why not?")
I remember you writing about the perfectly good little things. I have lots of those too. I find it very difficult to get rid of them. "This will come in useful one of these days," I tell myself. Only it never does.
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Only right now I could wish it was a little warmer.
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As long as there is nothing growing mould, rotting or dead under things, it's all good. I once told someone I had piles of book teetering precariously throughout the house...and we do!
I like your fireplace.
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When I moved into the house it was covered in a thick carapace of gloss paint. I spent a lot of time (and pints of nitromors) stripping it back- and you see the result.
The surround is plum-coloured marble with white veining. I think it's really handsome.
I love your room!
Anything?
I think the picture of it would make a good jigsaw puzzle. I used to have programme that made them before I got connected to the web. I was easily pleased. What with that and my "Starry Night" programme :-)
I'm rambling....
x
Re: I love your room!
I see what you mean about the jigsaw- lots of different colours and fiddly little details....
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My DH creates Entropy. I fight it. He has the easier job!
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And it's beautiful.
I have books in stacks. If anyone ever rearranged them, I wouldn't be able to look up anything I need.
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I used to know where every single book was- but there have been several upheavals and now it can be a real adventure to track a title down.
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My DH is prone to piles of stuff of every description, from books and papers to drafting tools. Especially when he's in the research phase for the next book.
I'm prone to stacks of books and heaps of yarn and piles of plastic storage boxes full of crochet hooks and beads.
We're both bibliophiles.
Translation, our whole house pretty much looks like yours. Except the bathroom, which only has piles of towels, but that's because it's too humid for books and papers. Otherwise books and papers would collect there too.
We know pretty much exactly where most things are. We keep anything that might smell bad (dishes, food scraps) under tight control, and let the dust bunnies pile up until my allergies kick in. Then I vacuum and dust, using the vacuum attachment for the latter.
I'd rather live in a home than in a museum!
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Exactly.
I don't think you can love books and keep a tidy home. Because if you love books you'll always have several "on the go"- plus magazines, of course, and you'll obviously have them lying around where you can pick them up again- and inevitably the piles deepen and.....
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Every place we've ever lived in, the books have taken over.
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I'm intrigued to find out how you apply them.
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I always feel weird and a bit inferior when I walk into homes that are utterly clean, without dust or clutter or mismatched objects. I wonder if people actually *live* there, and whether they meticulously pick up everything they do the minute they finish. I feel like they judge me when they come into *my* house, and yet--I would not want to live their lives.
And books. Have you ever walked into someone's house and realized there are no books anywhere? What do these people do? Usually they have the latest, biggest TVs available. I feel like an alien in homes with no books, like we have no possible common ground.
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