behindtheax

cleaning house

I think this is day six for dreary. I need a little sun here! However, I have caught up on several things that I had been putting off and that gives me a small sense of accomplishment, which I will take happily. My house is clean for one and if you only knew how infrequently I am able to say that. I am a major slob and this really irks my husband who at times borders on perfectionism – however, we do more or less balance each other out. I am pretty sure two perfectionists would eventually kill each other and two of me would die from some strange new bacteria that grew in their butter dish.

A few years ago when Greg and I were in San Francisco we stopped into The City Lights Bookstore (I forget the name of the street it is on but I fell totally in love with that store and that street} and he bought me the book Sweeping Changes by Gary Thorp, hoping I would discover the joy of washing dishes and dusting. It was an easy and pleasant read but I haven’t followed much of its advice yet. Except there was a time I did have a Zen like moment while removing grout from my shower but then again that could of just been the fumes.

Where am I going with this? I just think it is a nice feeling when your books are lined up properly on the books shelves, when your CDs are actually in their cases and are in nice straight rows, when your kid’s rooms look like snap shots for a Sears Catalogue, and your kitchen countertops can be seen and not only that but even gleam a little. Maybe Greg is right that there is more to housecleaning than lighting a stick of incense. Who knew?
I also made apple pies the other day and they didn’t turn out half bad. I can always tell when my crust is going to be ok if when I am rolling it out it first takes on the shape of New Brunswick.

I also did a fair amount of reading and helping with homework and a small amount of bookkeeping but very little writing. I came across a piece of fiction at the Room of One’s Own website, written by Amanda Hale called The Sin Eater. I just thought that was a brilliant piece of writing. It gave me chills. There are so many great writers and I am so proud that there are so many great Canadian writers. But at the same time when I read something that is so well done I feel tiny jabs of jealously and frustration just because the entry level to get into these journals is so friggin high. And as it should be but when I sit and try to get a story on paper and I fight with the tenses to stay where they should (pick a tense, any tense but stick to it) and I rack my brain to try to describe something simple and I realize how limited my vocabulary really is, I just find somedays this desire of mine to improve at writing overwhelming and I wonder why I don’t take up bowling instead? I am a decent bowler, with practice I could maybe join in on a league, Friday nights could be my bowling night, and I could even get my own ball. (A green one). I could be like The Big Lebowski.

Then there is that other small voice inside me that says if you really want to improve you should go back to school. It appears that entry to practice this craft begins with a University degree. That seems like a great push of faith this late in the game besides I should be thinking of University for my daughters more than myself. So I think I will just keep on, keeping on, hoping I will keep improving. I just have a great wish to imitate what I love.

posted by mary j. @ 11:12 AM