I’ve come to the inescapable conclusion that workrooms must be messy, hamsters have to escape from cages, and household pipes and wires simply can’t work in harmony for any great stretch of time.
Springtime means a general house cleaning. It also means the garden gets planted, chicks get hatched, and if there’s anything that needs to be stained or painted—brushes at the ready!
Ironically, it’s also one of the prettiest times of the year, when the outdoors beckon with blooms on the cherry, apple, and peach trees, when I take off two layers of sweaters and move about without feeling like an unoiled robot. And my skin craves the warm touch of the sun.
Conflict happens in all seasons, but springtime really sets strong forces at odds. There is so much to be done, yet the heart years for the chair on the back porch.
Like a microcosm of the world at war with itself, I struggle to define who rules the roost of my soul. I swing from one ruler to the next. Like a dance, I listen to complaints about how the refrigerator door won’t stay shut, glare at it for a second as if warning of defrostings to come, and promptly make myself a cup of tea.
On a walk with my neighbor, I hear the latest and greatest world news, and then sit down to dinner with my kids and get a completely different take on that same reality. I agree with both, of course. Not because I am a coward, though I may be, but mostly because they each have something to say that informs me. “Huh. So you say…”
In a gush of I’ll-get-this-done-or-die-trying, this week I managed to clean out the freezer, tackled a computer problem that had vexed my soul, and wandered about the backyard saying hello to all the flowering trees. I read conflicting reports about human affairs. Apparently, we’re demons and saints and everything in between. We deserve hell but Heaven is our intended destiny. We’re on the verge of annihilation and inspiration.
So when I walked by the workroom and a hammer happened to slide to the floor, I wasn’t unduly disturbed. My eldest boy brought me an escape artist rodent in a mason jar—Henrietta looked a bit confused—but I knew what to do. If she’d chewed through the last cage, we’d build another. The deck will get stained and rain will water the garden. Bees will buzz by on their way to blossoms, and the pipe under the sink will leak until I get it fixed.
There may be a bit of hell on the way to heaven.
But I’ll keep going…
A. K. Frailey
As a teacher with a degree in Elementary Education who has taught in big cities and small towns, Ann Frailey homeschooled all of her children. She manages her rural homestead with her kids and their numerous critters, authors books, and writes a Friday blog alternating between short stories and her My Road Goes Ever On series. Put Your Mind in a Better Place—Entertainment for Life