I want to tell you
that on the day of my funeral my house will be a mess
yesterday i was reading about a woman who was waiting for some medical test results.
she wondered if the news were bad,
would she have enough time to clean her house before the funeral.
i am saddened by this.
not so much by the mortality as by the idea
that given a short time to live
some women would choose to spend their time cleaning up
would a man have had a similar thought?
men seem to worry about
what they get to do or not do,
what they have or have not done.
“hey! – i never got to ride that motorcycle to…”
hence the hords of 50-year-old over-weight dentists, accountants and insurance salesmen making their loud, leatherish, harley way through the winding roads of the hudson valley. it looks somewhat silly, watching these men living some kind of postponed adolescence. it probably doesn’t feel silly, or small. it probably feels wonderful. perhaps even more wonderful at middle age than in early adulthood. the sun, wind, curve of the road. lovely.
where are their wives and girlfriends?
cleaning the house i suppose.
women worry less about their personal experience and more about what those experiences look like.
hence the scrapbooking phenomon, and the professional quality christmas cards taken while on vacation
“see here?” they seem to shout at you “see how all of our clothes coordinate, see the holiday ribbon, the clean shirts, the matching smiles?”
i wish for once someone would send a holiday card that looked something like a real family
not that beautiful isn’t real
but i question what is beautiful
a clean house?
matching outfits?
i can’t get my son to match his shirt to his pants
and i’m supposed to show up somewhere with my entire family in matching shirts?
for what purpose?
to prove my military level powers of persuation and orginization?
I ask you…
what will you think of me if…
the dishes are left in the sink…
the socks are not matched…
the paper snowflakes are still hanging from the ceiling in july…
if the three year old chooses the green monster shirt with the plaid red shorts and the purple socks…
if the house is a mess when you come for the funeral…
will you think my life was out control?
when men get the news they have a few months to live
do they worry you will think less of them for having a messy desk?
this past sunday we had q’s seventh birthday party in our home
there are mothers who have said to me
“i can’t have all those kids running through my house; they’d ruin it. i’m not putting all that work into decorating my house only to have a bunch of kids wreck it all.”
and i have thought – what else would a house be for if not birthday parties?
and they have made some mighty strange choices in order to keep the kids out of the house and the house looking like…well i’m not sure…a magazine ad? a hotel room? not a home in any case.
there was damage.
you cannot have nine young boys running, jumping and screaming through your house without damage.
but it was glorious and it was home. and even though the hallway is still not painted and our sofa – which is plaid – does not match our crazy quilt rug
it is a beautiful home
because you cannot have all those boys running, jumping and screaming through the house without beauty just pouring into every little corner
beauty that lasts and lasts and lasts
when it was time for cake and ice cream i called up to the screaming children in q’s room and eleven running, stomping, happy children came rush tumbling down the stairs.
“where’s your sister?” i asked one of the girls
“she’s upstairs cleaning up after the wreck the boys made.”
“why? does she like to clean?”
“no” replied the sister, “she hates to clean – but it’s awful the way those boys left that room.”
and so i thought i would take this moment to say
that if you come to my funeral
and i hope you do
because the food will be delectable
and the music rockin’
if you come to my house
it will be a mess
I know this because i know
if a doctor tells me my life is counted in days rather than years
i’m not picking up the duster, or the mop
i’m dancing, creating, loving, hiking and all the rest
up until i can’t do any of it any more
and when you step into the house you will find
clothes on the floor, cookbooks open with food splattered on pages and notes written in the margins, paper, pens, paintbrushes, tea cups, stickers, toys, ribbons, cd’s, magazines, letters, newspapers, photos, glitter, pizza boxes and chocolate wrappers
all in a beautiful tumble
in our wee house
the living comes first
the cleaning after
and only
if I have the time

