Thoughts of a domestic goddess

An unusual start to the day: three loads of washing done, and a pot of soup on the stove, and some niggly bits of cleaning in the kitchen - all before I allowed myself to come up to the study. Ok, I admit checking my mail and playing a move in Scrabulous before I even went down to breakfast ... but that doesn't count. Anyway, as I did all this virtuous labour, I thought about why it's not my usual pattern in these my declining years.

It's not that I like working in a scabby environment. I don't feel proud that the toaster as often as not is covered in crumbs, that the breadknife still bore the sticky remnants of the hot loaf it sliced yesterday, that the rings on the hob had burnt bits lurking round them even though I cleaned them - oh, must be a week ago. It's not even that, as I used to pronounce dramatically, I hate housework. Per se, it's even satisfying, in a quiet sort of way. And if vigorous enough it uses up a satisfactory number of calories. So where's the rub? (And isn't that a lovely pun?)

And today I reasoned that there are simply too many other things I'd rather be doing. When you're scrubbing a worktop or washing up the myriad bits that soup-making seems to produce you can listen to the radio, you can sing, you can, I suppose, recite poetry at the top of your voice. But you can't read, do a sudoku, write, surf, play Scrabulous, check Facebook/Twitter, go for a walk, swim, talk on the phone ...

In fact, most of what I did for that hour was think about housework. But at least my kitchen looks clean. For now.

Recurring nightmare?

There's been a wee exchange - not really a wonderful one, but there you are - on Kimberly's blog today, about coping with housekeeping, a full-time job, and the necessity to do things like blogging. Ok, so you don't find the last a necessity? Some of us do - or it might be reading, or talking on the phone, or climbing mountains: life-enhancing activities to which we feel drawn and which pull us away from tedious but worthy tasks.

Since retiring from paid employment in a situation where your every move was controlled by bells - right down to that pressing comfort break, as they call it in polite circles - I realise once again how much harder it is, in a way, to cope with freedom. If you have to make up your own timetable, compensating tomorrow for tasks left undone today, things can slide. Boy, can they slide. But I reckon I've hit on the solution as far as routine housework is concerned. (I'm not talking about cooking here. I like to eat, and I like to eat well)

If you don't do, say, the vacuuming on the appointed day one week, make no attempt to do it a couple of days later when you could be out in the sun which has suddenly appeared. Leave it till the day you've designated comes round again. You won't really notice, and no-one else will notice if you don't draw their attention to the stour. When you get round to doing it a week later, the carpets will look so good by comparison that you'll get double the satisfaction. See, housework never goes away. Never. So you're never really on top of it. Ergo, it's not worth getting in a tizz about it. Get on with living instead.

Just make sure you live with someone who agrees with you ....