The house is quiet after a social weekend. Quiet and clean. Nothing like having company come to get the place picked up. And then when everyone's gone again, everything is still clean, with spaces and surfaces to delight the eye. Tabletops without mail. Flowers. Empty wastebaskets. A fridge full of leftovers. I love living in a big old house, but sometimes the number of projects in progress (art work, school work, science experiments, cooking, laundry, computer stuff) and all the related messes can be overwhelming.
Not that I'd trade away any of our projects, even the ones I don't quite understand.
Me: What are you doing?
Piper: I'm ripping.
So I gave her a wooden bowl for her many many tiny pieces of Sunday magazine, and went back to reading my book and we were both happy.
(Two days later, the bowl of shredded paper is still on a chair in the front hall.)
For the moment, we're ahead of the mess... but I notice that even as they encroach, I welcome each project back. Perhaps if I could think of clutter as tidal?