Cleaning House - Melody Cryns

This morning I awoke to music softly playing on my iPod which I set to shuffle and fall asleep to – it’s cool because you never know what music will pop up. A Led Zeppelin song, a Beatles song and then Irish folk music – I slowly sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes looking at the boxes stacked in the corner, the dresser filled with stacks of paper I’ve got to go through, a laundry basket sitting on top of yet another box – my room is a disheveled mess, the place where we put all the stuff we have no idea what to do with.

I always have these grand plans of cleaning up my room, sort of like cleaning out the cobwebs in my brain or my life – but then I wonder, what the heck am I going to do with this stuff? There’s that box of stuff that we got out of my car that was totaled – miscellaneous things that I don’t want to throw away, yet have no idea what to do with. There are the boxes of pictures that some day need to be gone through, and the sleeping bag and sleeping pads from the Burning Uke campout I went to September. All I have is a closet, no storage room, no garage – all of the piles of things that would normally go someplace sit in my bedroom – there are the bookcases stuffed with books and bathroom items sitting on the book shelves – in hopes that Megan doesn’t use them or lose them, deordorant, nail clippers. I’ve had to replace nail clippers countless times because whenever I need them, they’re gone – disappeared someplace into the abyss. I ask Megan and she says, “I don’t know where they are!”

Last week, we managed to misplace a huge package of toilet paper. How does one lose something like this? Well, apparently, the package was buried some clothes on my dresser and we just didn’t see it right away.

Sometimes I wonder where we’ll be living. Will we even stay at this house? Is this situation really going to work out or are we just going to have to pack up again and move? I’ll finally get my room in order and suddenly, we have to leave again – I’m always afraid of that. You never know. So my stuff is still unorganized – and I will get to it, one day.

I remember that recurring dream that I had for years – where I’m in an empty house with hardwood floor – it’s an older house and I can see bare tree branches outside the window – but I have no idea where this house is. The living room is completely empty and there’s a warm fireplace – and I see my mother wearing her flannel nightgown walking towards me – with that “matter of fact” look on her white face, and those gray blue eyes so much like my daughter Melissa’s eyes wide – she smiles and then she says, “Mary, when are you going to unpack your boxes? It’s time!”

She points to stacks of boxes in the kitchen of this house – the kitchen is on the other end of the rather large living room, and the rooms sort of blend together with a countertop in between – I can really see this house, but I don’t know where it is, why I’m there.

“Oh yeah, I’ll get to it, Mom. I promise.”

Then Mom fades away and I’m back here again – and I still have to unpack those boxes. After all, I am going to be a Grandma. Time to step it up.

It’s time.