by Ruth Mary Youngblood
I am putting away our clean laundry in our oversized, walk-in closet, which we call the Trophy Room, but that is another story.
Putting away clean clothes is about the only domestic chore I do anymore. It is not a result of my efforts that the clothes are ready for the drawers and hangers. Hope Ann previously stripped and then remade the bed with the sheets and pillowcases she had laundered, folded and placed in our linen closet the week before. She had added the bedding to the contents of the laundry basket in the bathroom, carried them to the laundry room across the hall, put them through the washer and dryer, and returned them, neatly folded, to me for my dispersal.
I know that Lisa, although it is not in her job description, would be happy — indeed delighted to relieve me of this chore. She would as cheerfully put my disorganized bureau drawers in order just as cheerfully as she weekly vacuums, dusts and tidies our unit, even knowing full well that her efforts — like all housekeeping efforts — are done only to be done again.
I grow philosophical and muse as I attempt to stuff another item into an already overstuffed drawer about the period when these tasks — along with meal planning and preparation — were the very ones which for the greatest part of my life were the activities that created its framework and were the greatest contributors to the accomplishment of its purpose. That purpose, as I saw it at the time, was to create a pleasant and orderly home in which my family felt warm and safe, and — to whatever extent I had the power to make it so — happy.
Now that goal is behind me, and I question if, along with missing it, I am missing those daily household chores that gave my days framework and context.
The answer comes quickly: Hell no!
In fact, I think I will give serious consideration to asking Lisa to put the clean clothes away for me, fully aware that she will organize the bureau drawers to the point where I will be able to find things and eliminate the last challenge I face any more.
While she is doing that, I shall stretch out on the Lazy Boy with a cat and watch a few episodes of “Frasier.” Do I miss housework? Ha!
