Ghosts of Small Houses

…and she read in the tea leaves that time, that long ago, sepia-colored time,
that there would be a marriage and a house and children,
and pain and wounds that healed
and wounds that never, can’t, didn’t;

When they say ‘rattle around’ they mean exactly that.

It’s a sound only the solitary can hear. That empty, echoing sound. That rattle
Bouncing off the walls (never straight—how could they have built a house with walls that were never straight?)
Falling innocently from the ceiling down upon your shoulders
While you do dishes
Using as much water as you want now; letting it run down the drain unchecked, unaccounted-for.

Your house is so small, mom. Not enough room for us, the dogs, the suitcases;
I have to work this weekend;
We’ll come up for dinner—let’s go out.

Shopping takes no time. In and out, no need to linger there. No need for family packs, money-savers, bulk buys.
No need to dress all day. The bell at the front door, does it still work?
Things stay tidy. But that dust, sneaky dust, settles on it all, patina of the desert.

It can be still enough to hear the voices of those long dead who lived here before you. They chat In the basement, near the work-bench. They rap on the door at dawn
It’s time to get up, we have to go to work now
Make our lunches.
At the edge of dreams in the morning, they can be heard tromping heavy boots on linoleum,
Starting trucks in driveways
Tools clinking in the back.

The smell lingers still, fainter each year
From that flannel shirt on the hook by the door
It rises like a whisper,
Like a stroking finger across the back of your neck.

Each day is now just a blank page
Stained brown at the edges by the tea leaves.

A list grew there once.

Tis the Season...for Contradictions

…and to be busy. Too busy for many things, such as taking time for yourself and relaxing. In fact, holiday relaxing is often the kind where you collapse on the sofa after a hard day of doing and running and put your aching feet up on the coffee table and wish you had a maid. That’s why the rich live longer and are happier—not because they can buy so many more things, but because they can employ help.

To me, the ultimate luxury would not be the large home, the private island or the fancy car, it would be a staff. Someone to keep the house clean, the accounts in order, the dishes done up, have the food cooked when I got home, have fresh coffee and something homemade baked ready to nibble on. Ahhh…the thought of that sort of true relaxation at the end of a busy day makes me purr with envy. (Sometimes I think I’m part cat. Cats think of their owners as “staff”.) I can’t stand to watch old movies because all those people who live in the Park Avenue apartments wearing chiffon evening dresses and dancing with Fred Astaire seem to have household help. Sure, they were usually the comic relief in the movie, but I would never have treated them so cavalierly; I would have appreciated their presence and the work they did for me, and would have rewarded them handsomely at the holidays. Except for time off. That they could not have. So they’d have to live in.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’d probably be too critical. Or suspicious. Or worse, be too soft-hearted and make them all friends, and buy them horrendously expensive gifts, and let them have all the time off they wanted. I’m like that, really. No, I really am. Really!

I am a fundamentally lazy person. That’s why my house is always clean. I keep it that way because I do not want to clean it. Okay, I know that sounds nutty, but it’s true. I de-clutter frequently, throw out old and mouldery stuff that collects in corners, make sure the kitchen counters are free of crud, the bathroom is shiny and sanitary, and the closets are not going to kill you by dropping something large and heavy on your head when you open their doors . It doesn’t take nearly the work to keep a place clean as it does to clean it up in the first place. That can be a monumental and daunting task, one which several of my friends don’t seem to be able to manage. (Yes, I do feel superior.)

And come the holidays, I put the decorations up early, get the cards out before the second week of December has passed, and bake everything for the freezer, so it can be put out when needed. I’m a regular M---tha St---rt. (I’d say her whole name, but I can’t stand the b—tch.) Then I spend the rest of the time shopping for perfect presents, and going to see decorated tree displays wherever they are. I am a regular nut for decorated tree displays. They inspire me, and make me envious. I wanted to buy a house just so I could put a tree in every room. Now that I have a house, a tree in every room would just be more clutter I’d have to clean.

Okay, so I’m a bundle of contradictions. I feel superior to my cluttery friends, but I love their homes at the holidays…I get all organized and do everything early, but I can’t stand M---tha…I like clean, but I want to be lazy…I bought a house so I could decorate it, but I don’t decorate it because I don’t want to clean it up later…yup…the holidays sure bring out the best in me, don’t they?

Ah what the the heck….I love this time of year. And I have my own little “traditions,” one of which is allowing all those wonderful contradictory behaviors to come out and grab a cookie off my lacquer-ware platter, while sipping on their hot chocolate and doing aerobics. And watch those crumbs, and make sure you rinse out that cup…..

Happy Holidays to One and All!!!