A stretch of recent warm weather convinced me that Spring was here and I should get to work on some spring chores: putting my winter clothes away and re-discovering my summer clothes, which, to my dismay, had shrunk to fit into the apparently too cramped closet space I had allocated for them. Windows glistened in the bright sun, showing doggie nose prints and kiddie handprints, so clear that historians and archeologists will be able to identify our family tree from these prints alone in years to come. What looked like smears of food, probably from the baby smooshing his lips up against the window, will reveal that we had a real fondness for macaroni and cheese.
My gaze drifted toward the kitchen, my favorite room in the whole house. There was my herbal tea collection, somewhat haphazardly stacked on an old wooden stand that had seen better days. I looked past it toward the cupboards, their calm white doors hiding a multitude of mismatched plastic kid’s cups, over-stacked shelves and a hodgepodge of coffee mugs. The top of the cupboards fairly bristled with baking pans, soup pots and vegetable trays too big to fit in the space under the counter.
The sun beckoned me toward the sliding glass door, overlooking the deck that was in dire need of cleaning and freshening in preparation for the annual migration of deck furniture from the shed. To the right, I could see the clothesline, reminding me to find the clothespins so the first load of clothes of the season could be hung out. As I drew open the door to air out the room, I forgot about the house chores as I took in the back lawn and caught a glimpse of the vegetable garden plot. Oh, the possibilities!!
Over the years, I had done some serious research into plant species that were hardy enough to survive my serial neglect in the swampy and humid back garden, an area which also had it’s own unique species of voracious mosquito. The garden plot was a raised bed, created in desperation after attempts to till the clay-ridden, soggy marsh resulted in tines that were bound up tight with hardy vegetation that could barely be cut away. I noticed that the winter had been hard on the tree branches, with some rotted ones discovering new resting places and fragile branch tips strewn about on the lawn. My fingers itched to start the tidying and the preparation for this year.
I sighed as I looked back toward the house. So many things to do. Before the end of the weekend, there were several baskets of clothes to fold and put away, the beds should probably be made so they didn’t look like we were hiding dead bodies in them, there were groceries yet to be got and hauled in from the car, room found in the fridge for the perishables and the cupboards rearranged to house the too many boxes of pasta I would no doubt find on sale. I had successfully avoided the clothes folding and the bed making for a couple of weeks, leaving that tedium for my husband to handle or ignore while I got lost in the food aisles at the local supermarket.
Where to start? Sighing, I grabbed the last basket of laundry to be washed and headed downstairs. As I added detergent to the cup in the washer, I glanced out the back door. My husband had flung open the door under the deck and had dragged out the pressure washer to hose down the siding. There he was, looking content in the sunshine as he inspected the various valves and hoses and mixed up the required solutions. Maybe I’ll just go say hi, I thought, as I eased open the door and watched him haul on the cord to start it. After a few tries, blue smoke belched from the motor and the rata-tat-tat of the engine proved an effective shield to conversation. Too noisy, I though, I’ll just have a look at the lawn and see how it’s doing.
As I wandered toward the side of the house, I noticed that last year’s leaves had congregated in the flowerbeds below, where green shoots were beginning to pop out. The deranged blackberry bushes were beginning to grow new thorns and the deadheads that I had left to over winter were in dire need of pruning. ‘Where’s the rake?” I mouthed to my husband. He pointed and gestured, which I interpreted to mean ‘around the house’. I’ll just remove the leaves from the beds, I thought, and maybe do a bit of raking if the ground isn’t too wet.
Awhile later, I stopped to survey my handiwork. The leaves had been removed from the flowerbeds and I had pruned the bushes back - they were entirely too fresh for my liking while I raked, grabbing my pants and clinging to my shirt as I passed by. I had about two thirds of the side yard completed and a huge pile of leaves and debris as proof of my efforts. With a pang of guilt, I realized I had forgotten about the laundry and the house chores were still waiting. I debated the merits of spending a few more minutes in the sun or being a responsible adult and heading inside to put the laundry in the dryer.
I remembered a conversation I’d had long ago with a dear friend. At the time, we were both at transition points in our lives, trying to figure out our next steps as we balanced our responsibilities and hopes and dreams of new opportunities. During one such discussion, trying to decide which way to go, my friend asked me what I thought she should do. “Do exactly what you WANT to do,” I intoned with youthful wisdom. We giggled and agreed. Life was for living. We had things to do, worlds to conquer, adventures to discover. Over the years, we have chirped the same advice back and forth. Sometimes we would forget for a while when responsibilities came crowding in and there was just no time for fun. But even when we didn’t have the time or hadn’t given ourselves permission, we somehow found ourselves exactly where we needed to be, doing what we really needed to do.
Marveling at our youthful wisdom, I gave the lawn a few more swipes and piled the leaves in the wheelbarrow. Then I headed inside, put the laundry in the dryer and settled my bones on the couch that suddenly seemed three feet deep and very hard to get out of. Right now, I thought, this is where I need to be, and what I really need to do. The spring-cleaning could wait.