"Learning To Roll With The Punches..."

An exasperated wife walks into the bedroom and spies a pair of her husband's underwear in the middle of the floor, prompting her to yell out in exasperation to him, "Is this your dirty underwear I see lying here on the floor!" A moment's hesitation and then the testy reply, "It darn well better be mine!!"

I like a neat and orderly home, having been raised by a meticulous mother who even at the age of 80 continues to insist that everything has an assigned place and everything had best remain in that assigned place or there will be hell to pay. Mother's housekeeping is immaculate. Dust is a foreign substance that is constantly being eradicated almost before it has the opportunity to alight on any otherwise welcoming surface. One can literally eat off her floors. This condition is also true of my home, as there is probably a seven course dinner and several varieties of leftover snacks lurking somewhere just below our feet.

To suggest that my wife is not a domestic queen is understating the true facts of our reality. Judi insisted that as I was renovating our home that I provide her with an office space in order that she may more successfully administer her Mary Kay Cosmetics business. That was years ago and Mary Kay has been relegated to the dustbin of history and Judi has now moved out of the office and into the dinning room, the living room and and a goodly portion of our bedroom. Her on-going efforts to make a successful go of her real estate investment business has produced more paperwork than the headquarters at the I.R.S. Judi too operates under the adage that everything has a place and she insists that she knows exactly where each any every piece of paper is among the myriad of stacks of documents that occupy every available nook and cranny throughout our house. So adept at record keeping is she that I have long been convinced that she maintains at least copies of the original feed bills for the Ark.

Even though I miss the days when our dinning room table was actually used to eat meals around, I've learned to adapt. Her office is now my office and I use it as a place of refuge and tranquility. It is here that I attempt to release my desire to communicate with the larger world and hope for stimulating reciprocation. It is here that I find solace in a good book and peaceful lingerings in good music...until the love of my life calls me to dinner, "Grab a tray and join me in the living room for cheese sandwiches." Judi makes a mean cheese sandwich.

Please know that I am not really complaining. Yes, I would perfer to have our home be more of a reflection of my mother's housekeeping habits. But a truly happy home does not and should not merely revolve around how a home looks...its soul is in how it feels...and this feels like home. Now if you'll excuse me I have a bed to make, dishes to wash, and I think there's a pair of my dirty underware lying in the middle of the bedroom floor that must be reassigned to their proper place. A housekeeper's chores are never done.