Ordenadora

The house this morning - with its truths
scrambled, blankets and feathers, the start of the day
already in flux-drifts like a poor little boat
between its horizons of order and of sleep.

Objects want only to drag themselves along:
vestiges, entropic followers, cold legacies.
Papers hide their shriveled vowels;
the wine in the bottle prefers to continue yesterday.

But you - The One Who Puts Things in Order - you shimmer
through like a bee, probing space lost to the darkness:
conquering light, you with your white energy.

So you construct a new clarity here,
and objects obey, following the wind of life:
an Order establishes its bread, its dove.

Pablo Neruda

This is my signature poem. It tells me that homekeeping can be the means to peacemaking. It names me, Ordenadora - The One Who Puts Things in Order. That is exactly what I do. I derive enormous satisfaction from the simple act of ordering our lives. I walk through the house, pulling up blankets, removing water glasses from side tables, fluffing pillows, wiping crumbs from a counter. In about 15 minutes I can restore order, create cosmos from chaos. When I do this, I create order and peace. It is a gift that I can give my family. They might not even recognize it but I know that by bringing order to our home in these small and gentle ways, their lives are made easier.

A friend once remarked, marvelled really, that my house was always clean. "No," I told her. "It isn't always clean but it is always tidy". Even before Flylady I understood the importance of being able to sit down in a chair without having to first move a pile of laundry, of being able to set the table without having to pick up 4 days worth of mail and newspapers. Now that I have routines that address the cleanliness issue, it is even easier to be Ordenadora. It truly requires little effort to burnish the edges, so to speak.

One day, shortly after we finished our kitchen remodel, the Rabbi's Wife came to call, eager to see the results of our efforts. It was a day when I had not been Ordenadora. The house wasn't a disaster, mind you. It never is. But it didn't yet speak peace. And I found myself apologizing for the dishes still on the counter and the unswept floor. I was disappointed that my beautiful kitchen wasn't quite as lovely as it could have been. (This was probably enhanced by the fact that the Rabbi's Wife has a spotless, pristine home). It was silly of course. The house wasn't that bad at all and she probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't said anything. People do live here, after all. But I vowed then and there that I would never again be caught out like that. The bed would be made first thing, the surfaces cleared after use. I didn't want to ever again feel like I needed to apologize for the state of my house, unless we'd just been hit by a hurricane or something.

You're probably thinking, yes, but life does indeed happen. And besides, who wants to live in a place where you aren't allowed to live? Doesn't the very fact of being human mean that you'll make messes? Of course. I'm not one to cover my couch with a plastic protector or run after everyone with a dustpan and crumber. I don't lose it when there are smudges on the window or sticky spots on the floor. I am not obsessive compulsive nor a martyr to some impossible myth of perfection. Things don't have to be just so. But you can't live fully in clutter. You need to be able to relax, put your feet up. I want my home to be as welcome and embrace my family every day. I don't believe in cleaning up just because company is coming (which I used to do). I finally realized that we deserve to be treated as well as we treat our guests.

It might sound silly, but I actually get a lot of joy from my daily ritual of being Ordenadora. Once I've assisted Order in establishing "its bread, its dove" I can think clearly. I can write. I can read. In 15 short minutes I can set the stage so that we can all live our lives with less distraction. And it is a ritual, not a chore. It is as meaningful as dipping my fingers in the font at church and making the ancient sign of the cross. I've done that a million times but each time reminds me of my baptismal call. And each morning I assume the mantle of Ordenadora I remind myself of what matters most to me, the ones I love, the need for peace and the freedom to get on with the pursuit of my own dreams.