It's Not a Pig Sty, It's "Lived In"

Ok, I won't codify someone's shortcomings to paper. That would be cruel though it would make for some fun writing with the things I saw people play out in front of me last night. Instead I'll codify my Mom's imperfections. They say you shouldn't speak ill of the dead since they can't answer the allegation. Ah, to hell with that!

In doing this, I'll be skewering myself as I'm just as guilty of the same crime.

My Mom's idea of housecleaning was to vacuum once a month! Windows? Bah! Let the rain wash the outside panes. Inside panes? Bah! Twice a year if that. Self cleaning ovens were a Godsend to her. She tossed out all her Easy Off cans into the garbage when Sears dropped off our new range that had that self cleaning feature.

The laundry was done, but there would be piles of unfolded, un-put-away clothing on the living room couch. A lot of mornings as a kid I'd pick through just what I wanted to wear to school that morning. Magazines, old newspapers were saved till they formed a small hill in the corner of the kitchen.

On the days she did clean, it was combat style. Somehow she'd get the motivation to attack it all and try to defeat this amount of work that had piled up for the past few weeks. I learned to stay the hell away from her as she'd get pissed off and accuse us kids of being the cause of the mess. Well, that was partly true, but not totally!

 My Mom wasn't too keen on the June Cleaver style of housekeeping. She found it distasteful and did it when it became apparent it HAD to be done.

Our house wasn't a shambles but it was cluttered. I never really knew this was a problem until I started visiting some other kid's homes. I'd wonder, why the hell is Don's house like a museum? There's nothing out! No screwdrivers, scissors, toys, shoes, shirts, books or cameras lying on a table. Did they own anything? Are they poor? Also, at Don's house, his Mom ordered us to remove our shoes before we made a second step into her home. I thought that incredibly insulting. “Huh...You think the soles of my shoes are covered in filth do ya?” I'd think.

Don's room was astonishing. All toys, books and what nots were placed on shelves and some toys were jauntily facing each other like Hummel figurines. His bed was made. The closet in his room wasn't stuffed and about to burst like a dam.

This was one weird house I thought to myself. You'd be afraid to touch anything as it did look like a museum.

Don's Mom must be a neat freak. That had to be it. A deep seated psychological disorder that she never managed to face. What other reason could there be?

Yeah, but then I discovered other homes of the kids I knew were in various states of orderliness that made our home look like a confetti party was held there. I began to realize that it wasn't them...it was US that was a bit off the track when it came to Better Homes and Gardens.

Now, how do you think I keep my house as of today? To the left of me is an old love seat that is really a shelf. On it are my old work shoes, a dog leash, a good pile of books, manila folders containing last years whatevers. Behind me in the nook thing meant to display Fine China are; more books, headphones, DVDs, a jar of change I keep filling up, an empty cordless phone box, a camera and what seems to be an empty plastic bag from Target's (there might be something in it still?).

When do I clean? Easy, I'll get the motivation to attack it all and be pissy about doing it too. Yes, I guilt myself into doing it as it gets to the point of “having to be done.” Gee, sounds like someone I knew a many years ago.

There now, this story didn't point the many faults of other people I witness on a day to day basis. I graciously fell on my own sword. I have chalked up points to lessen my time in Purgatory. The next story I'll cash in some of those assets and really DUMP on someone!