Smudges on the Glass

There are certain things I obsess over. Sometimes it's big things, and in those I often feel justified in my concern, but more often than not it's with things that don't make an iota of difference to anyone... but me. I don't like to entertain the idea that I might actually have a form of OCD, though I suppose that could be a real possibility, and I certainly wouldn't be one to make light of anyone who does suffer from that difficult and often debilitating disorder. Please don't think I'm equating my quirks with those who struggle horribly with these issues. I do wonder though why some of the smallest, most insignificant details... the kinds of things other people don't even notice... will send me into a tizzy, a frenetic frenzy, until the offending "whatever" is remedied and all is right in my little world again.

The things I find most irritating of all have to do with my house, or more specifically, the order of it. I straighten lampshades. I rehang the tablecloths that are askew as they drape from the quilt rack in the dining room. I wipe the shower walls down as soon as the faucet is turned off. I make the bed the minute I step onto the floor in the morning. I tuck and fluff and straighten and scrub almost incessantly. Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but truthfully... not by much.

I have had to actively work to tame this beast, but it's an ongoing process. I wasn't always this way, far from it. As a kid, and then as a teenager, my room was deplorable. It always looked like something had exploded in there. When I graduated from college and got my first job, along came my first apartment. I must have been beginning my evolution at that time, because the "social" parts of the place were always presentable. My bedroom and closet, however, remained my slouchy domain. Fast forward thirty or so years and my transformation is complete. I have morphed into this... this crazy lady who will literally stop what I'm saying mid-sentence to get up and readjust the curtain behind the couch!

As you can imagine, this behavior drives my sweet husband nuts! He doesn't understand, nor does he share, this compulsion. He's totally fine with "whatever," and he would actually prefer things be a little more, shall we say... relaxed... around here. I tend to justify my actions by the fact that this is a wee cottage, and as such, must be constantly maintained (monitored ;)) not to be overrun with clutter. Hence the rub.

One of the top offenders for me happens to be smudges on the glass of the doors leading to the front and back yards. Tom has a habit of opening said doors by placing his forearm or hand on the glass to push it open rather than using the perfectly good handle. This is a habit I have observed over many years, and it's not just here at the house. This is his preferred method of opening doors anywhere. Restaurants. Shops. Convenience stores. I can remember being mortified once as we were leaving a Bill Miller's. Tom used this same method to exit the building WHILE the employee was standing there... cleaning the fingerprints off the glass. However, thanks to COVID, I now think Tom's method is not such a bad idea!

I'm being a bit silly here, but these quirks of mine have, indeed, caused lots of needless arguments and disagreements between Tom and me. After all, a house is not a living, breathing thing... a home is. Home is a feeling. It takes on a persona of its own. Home is the place where its inhabitants, ALL its inhabitants, should feel loved, comforted, welcomed, valued. When I let my quirks take precedence over the comfort and acceptance my husband feels when he's here, there's something VERY wrong with that picture. The same can be said for my kids and their families. I want everyone who comes here to feel like they are the most important people in the world to me, because they are. Constantly trying to erase the marks of life lived well inside these walls does not send that message.

Thursdays are house cleaning days for me. I often save cleaning the glass windows of our doors for last. This ritual has always kind of seemed like the icing on the cake, the finishing touch. Yesterday I abstained from doing so, and it's important for you... but more importantly for me... to understand why.

Last weekend Tom and I were blessed to host Mark and Laura here at the casita as they introduced their new baby, Wade, to the rest of the Pulliam Squad. To settle any concerns, know that we hosted the gathering outside in our backyard, observing the six foot rule, as well as being masked. It was a lovely time... the loveliest. It was soooo good to see family, all of them. I drank it in... the oo-ing and ahh-ing over the baby, Ben and Flint, (our other two grandsons aged six and three respectively) playing so wonderfully well together, the smiles -that though supressed by fabric coverings- bubbled up and out through our eyes. We visited. We laughed. It was good medicine for the soul, and it was over much, much too soon.

As I finished up the mopping yesterday afternoon, it was time to pull out the Windex and have at the glass. I opened the back door, and there, like an old faithful nemesis, were the familiar smudges, the evidence of Tom's goings and comings. This time, though, there were more. Accompanying Tom's familiar fingerprints were those of smaller hands, lower down on the window. The remnants. The remnants of a beautiful day. The remnants of beautiful and precious family. I could not erase those marks. I had to savor them... to let them linger as long as I could.

It's funny how something like that, something so simple, almost insignificant, can grab your heart, change your attitude. In that moment, rag still in hand, I realized my mistake. This isn't a house. It's a home. Life is lived here. Memories are made here. The dearest people enter, visit, and inhabit this place. I hate to say it. I hate even to think it, but life has a way of changing on us, often when we least expect it. People move away. Children grow up. Loved ones graduate to glory. What will matter then? A pristine house? Straightened lampshades? Fluffed pillows... sparkling glass? Absolutely not!

What will matter then is that those we love always felt loved, that they always felt like they were the priority, the most important people in the world to us, because they were. They ARE. I can't promise that those smudges will stay there indefinitely. I know me. At some point the urge to grab that bottle of Windex will overtake me, but for now...? Well, for now, I think I'll just sit back and enjoy the new look. This "icing" is perfection.