I have good intentions when it comes to housework – I don’t like living in a tip. But really,when there’s a choice, what to do? Read a book or mop the kitchen floor? It really is a no-brainer for me.
Only the thought of visitors copping a sight of my unwashed floors/windows/dishes (delete as appropriate) will spur me into action, and then only if its people who have never been to my house before.
Joan Rivers had it right when she said: “I hate housework! You make the beds, you do the dishes and six months later you have to start all over again”.
On some level, I must mind what people think of my housekeeping skills (or lack of them), although most of my friends know that I live in a kind of eclectic chaos, surrounded by unfinished writing projects, cats, a dog and a jungle of potted plants, so they don’t expect anything other than dust bunnies and tea stains everywhere. And books, of course. Lotsabooks. Step through the front door and there are two big bookcases in the hall stuffed to overflowing. And that’s just the entrance.
Of course, some of the books I love, some I’ve never read, some I never will, and some of them I wish I hadn’t bothered (and still more, I’m likely to read again). But that’s the point really, they are there for me to dip into if I have the inclination. And for me, it has to be paper, it’s just not the same as firing up an e-reader (although I have one, surprisingly).
The book pile in the picture is some of my recent reading. I haven’t read the Anthony Doer yet (‘All the Light We Cannot See’), I’m saving it for next week and a book club discussion the week after. Today, I’m reading the Anne Tyler (‘A Spool of Blue Thread’), which is another of her intricate Baltimore family observations, with some clever writing (of course) and a good story line. Very enjoyable. And so much more fun than floor cleaning.