It’s unusual for me to enter the hell of housework, but sure, every now and then it happens. And this is one of my favorite things about the holidays — the joy of family arriving makes everything fun — even cleaning. I mean, it isn’t raucously fun, but still. At any rate, my life of late has been a whirlwind of washing everything in the house, tossing anything that’s no longer usable, and donating the rest. And then comes the fun part — re-dreaming, re-arranging, re-hanging and, often enough, re-loving.

Yes, the wonderful, mind-altering, fabulous thing happened, and yes, I actually cleaned.

Mind you, when I say I cleaned, I mean I CLEANED — right through the nittiest gritty on the planet. And then another thing happened. A wonderful, magical, mystical thing.

I was hot into ripping off bed covers and sheets and pillows and the errant what IS that? when I saw it. Between the mattress and the box spring, between the feeling and the knowing, between the motion and the act (10 points if you recognize the reference), a small piece of folded paper poked herself out quite nonchalantly. Just a papery flutter minding it’s own papery business. So of course I immediately pulled it out, and with it flew a lilting passel of individually written 20-year-old memories spilled full out and joyously tumbling all over the floor. Some written to me; some written to each other.

And suddenly I was back in those joyous days of artists arriving from multiple states, laughing and creating non-stop, sharing food and ideas and sleeping exhaustedly on every flat-enough service of every room in the house.

Over those years, we made art together for hours and hours at a time, easily filling a day or two with each visit. New friends, old friends, come-and-go friends, love-you-forever friends.

“A security I cannot describe.”
“Pure solace, as it always is.”
“May you have an enchanted and marvelous time in this room.”
“Rest and be refreshed.”
“I find peace being in this bed and with those who live here.”
“Sorry for the scraps — I don’t travel with paper!”
“Rest and be refreshed.”
“Is this bed comfy or what???”
“Workshops, gardens, peace, contentment, beauty, and inspiring art.”
“With each short visit, I’m reminded how it might be to stay with cherished family. Thank you for your friendship, humor, advice, and suggestions.”

And it was, again, bliss, no matter the distance.

Love you forever, indeed. Maybe cleaning isn’t so overrated after all.

* Image above by Pam Goode, taken one night in Ireland.