Watching Nothing.

 

Dear Cleaning Ladies (and Gentlemen),

I was cleaning today.  Y'all know I do not like cleaning, because it is never done, and it is never done well enough, and I do not like the world's gender fueled expectations of me to be a 'cleaner.'  

But, because someone is coming, and I want to sit leisurely paying attention to The Guest, and not to hear the following from my constantly babbling interior monologue voice (which should probably have a name; perhaps Hank?): "they are seeing the muddy paw prints, the myriad spider webs, the velvety dust, and the stains on the carpet and table" while we talk.

Another reason Hank and I fret over mess, is that people are not that comfortable in disarray- they feel like they should 'do' something; I don't like being around people who are antsy like that, even when the person is me (or, especially when the person is me, or Hank).

Conversely, and Hank might just be surprised to hear this, I have used these expectations as self-defense:  "What are you doing?" the world keeps asking, and I know I must answer that I am contributing to well being and my community:  I say, "Oh, you know, cleaning up some stuff- it's never ending!"  This often sounds a bit too cheerful, and I worry people will know I am fibbing.

What am I really doing?  Research, in my lab (I am doing it now).  How do I do it?  It involves a LOT of not-doing; and a lot of circular actions, and gazing.  Also, what you might call thinking, but of course, I do a lot of thinking when I am actually cleaning, too, so I am not sure that the 'thinking' counts.  It looks like me, in bed until noon.  It looks like me, partially dressed, poking through my books and notes.   It looks like me typing on the computer, writing to you here, and also sorting.  Sorting looks like me searching websites, or pages of on-sale shoes; rifling through my collection of hankies and taking some out to be given back to the thrift store.  Recompiling months of to do lists in yet another 'master list.'  

Research looks like sitting on the porch watching nothing/everything.  It looks a lot like living, except it is much more engaging, vital, and important.

Mattering.

 

Dear Muttering,

Why do you or I matter?  Well, in geologic scale, we don't.  It's okay to say that.  No, it's actually quite good to say that.  Why?  As insurance against being used.  I don't want, in my desire to matter, to do a heap of unnecessary emotional labor, or to go around working for The Man, our Robot Overlords,  Capitalism and godknowswhat all garbage.  Just exactly why would I try to 'matter' in some ill-defined way which is controlled by the human construct of 'civilization.'  What, I say, might matter to a rabbit?  To a beetle?  A poppy?  A child?  A lightening strike?  A puddle of mud?

Yes, yes, I know, it sounds too romantic for our world of contemporary knowledge; it's just another way for you to put your head in the sand, you say.  But, I do feel that a map, a guideline, a test, is a very handy item to have as we travel through the seasons and years.

One thing I am going to use to shape my meaning and my mattering, is this mantra:  I will not be told to clean things.  I have a coffee table filled with magazines that tell me what to do, and most of the admonitions revolve around cleaning.  Declutter, degrease, simplify.   Exfoliate, shed, let go of.  Organize, dust, deep clean.  Store, fold, be mindful.

These actions do give a nice sense of being in charge, and they seem to need doing, so that's a nice feeling.  A feeling of mattering, a feeling of having control over dust, objects, wilted leaves.  But, mightn't it cause me to focus only on the dead and dying?  Are you simply, in life, making a mess or cleaning a mess?  That seems a bit thin, doesn't it?

Here I am at the end, again, and I still have not given a list of things that I like to think (pretend?) make me who I am.  Up next, the fourth and final episode in this discussion: baking an Identity Pie.

Read This!

Dear Cinderella,

I am cleaning this week, because I am having some people over-  there is a lot of dust and spider webs and paper scraps-  what my Mom and Dad always called 'schnitzels' of paper. 

I have a whole box of these paper scraps, because I think I might one day make new paper out of them.  Or maybe I will stuff them into a sculpture skin, and I only I will know that the innards are schnitzels saved over years. 

I also have bags of fabric snippings- no, I don't mean anything you could make a quilt with, I mean really small snips and threads.  They make nice little piles and I love the way they sit in rows. 

I know that I am going to have to become comfortable with the disappointment others will have in me for this behavior-  I know that collecting bottle caps has become 'hoarding' and that makes me quite ill by today's standards. 

Phooey on that, and read this, too, while you are at it.  It's long, it uses big words and it is subversive- you will love it!