Are You Making the Most of Your Mess?
I’m not sure when I officially stopped noticing things, but it’s been awhile. I noticed my not noticing the other day while out doing that most horrible of autumn chores: deciding which plants are going to die.
I looked at the sweet faces of the annuals who’ve knocked themselves out for me all summer; and, then, I pulled the plug on the petunias: “You are no longer allowed to live, while this awful rust-colored mum I got for Mother’s Day last May, and didn’t have the guts to throw away, gets to live a couple more weeks because it goes with the pumpkins.”
When I throw away a whole basket full of used plants, I can hear their squeaky little voices calling, “Liz, Liz, come get me. Just one more drink before I die.”
But, sometimes I wonder, when did I stop thinking chaos, for example, was a bad thing.
As we enter into this, the most chaotic of all seasons, the Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day season, let us take a moment to remember the value of a good mess.
I plopped down for a moment on the back porch during my last petunia killing spree and just sat there looking at our roof. My husband says we should redo the roof before we do anything else (like replace the downstairs carpets with the stains from dogs who died ten years ago, or redo the kitchen and the doggone countertop with the hole in it from 1985) and he’s probably right.
On the roof, we have cedar shingles and they are covered with moss in many places. It’s a regular little Irish landscape up there, except, no leprechauns. Or gnomes.
It’s the most beautiful roof you’ve ever seen. Of course, it may cave in any minute and we’ll all die, or it will start leaking and we’ll have to come live with you this winter, but until then, it’s really lovely with its soft green mounds pushing up each shingle. I don’t think we should ever change it.
While I was sitting there, thinking of my Irish ancestors, and how great Liam Neeson looked in a kilt, I wondered when I stopped noticing the good smell of a bubbling pot of soup at the end of the day, and started thinking only of what could I put on quick that would actually make it seem like I’d thought of dinner before 5:30.
I decided we needed to reinstitute a custom from the days of our first grand daughter. We used to leave all her fingerprints on the mirrors for about three weeks after she’d gone. Her toys would stay scattered across the floor, so we could treasure the dolly lying on its side, its arms and legs flopped across each other.
Our old red plastic truck would be in the living room with her tea set in the back, and the little Mexican nativity set that I keep out all year would be in a new, inventive configuration with a more exciting role assigned to the sheep and a secondary place for the kings and their wierd gifts.
It takes nerves of steel, and a secretive nature, to be messy: to take naps in the afternoon, to make cakes from scratch with kids, and let them play with bread dough. To forget about multi-tasking and to waste time. It takes a little bit of the old crazy to try things that are too complicated and that will probably fail, but you know can’t resist trying.
If we’re strong and brave, if we have character and courage, we can become a messy people. We can have people over and shove our projects off the couch so they can sit down and visit.
Organization gives the appearance of priorities as straight as your straightened curtains and scrubbed counter tops.
Not that there’s anything specifically wrong with being clean, but messy…ahhh, messy really says your priorities are hanging straight.
I looked at the sweet faces of the annuals who’ve knocked themselves out for me all summer; and, then, I pulled the plug on the petunias: “You are no longer allowed to live, while this awful rust-colored mum I got for Mother’s Day last May, and didn’t have the guts to throw away, gets to live a couple more weeks because it goes with the pumpkins.”
When I throw away a whole basket full of used plants, I can hear their squeaky little voices calling, “Liz, Liz, come get me. Just one more drink before I die.”
But, sometimes I wonder, when did I stop thinking chaos, for example, was a bad thing.
As we enter into this, the most chaotic of all seasons, the Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day season, let us take a moment to remember the value of a good mess.
I plopped down for a moment on the back porch during my last petunia killing spree and just sat there looking at our roof. My husband says we should redo the roof before we do anything else (like replace the downstairs carpets with the stains from dogs who died ten years ago, or redo the kitchen and the doggone countertop with the hole in it from 1985) and he’s probably right.
On the roof, we have cedar shingles and they are covered with moss in many places. It’s a regular little Irish landscape up there, except, no leprechauns. Or gnomes.
It’s the most beautiful roof you’ve ever seen. Of course, it may cave in any minute and we’ll all die, or it will start leaking and we’ll have to come live with you this winter, but until then, it’s really lovely with its soft green mounds pushing up each shingle. I don’t think we should ever change it.
While I was sitting there, thinking of my Irish ancestors, and how great Liam Neeson looked in a kilt, I wondered when I stopped noticing the good smell of a bubbling pot of soup at the end of the day, and started thinking only of what could I put on quick that would actually make it seem like I’d thought of dinner before 5:30.
I decided we needed to reinstitute a custom from the days of our first grand daughter. We used to leave all her fingerprints on the mirrors for about three weeks after she’d gone. Her toys would stay scattered across the floor, so we could treasure the dolly lying on its side, its arms and legs flopped across each other.
Our old red plastic truck would be in the living room with her tea set in the back, and the little Mexican nativity set that I keep out all year would be in a new, inventive configuration with a more exciting role assigned to the sheep and a secondary place for the kings and their wierd gifts.
It takes nerves of steel, and a secretive nature, to be messy: to take naps in the afternoon, to make cakes from scratch with kids, and let them play with bread dough. To forget about multi-tasking and to waste time. It takes a little bit of the old crazy to try things that are too complicated and that will probably fail, but you know can’t resist trying.
If we’re strong and brave, if we have character and courage, we can become a messy people. We can have people over and shove our projects off the couch so they can sit down and visit.
Organization gives the appearance of priorities as straight as your straightened curtains and scrubbed counter tops.
Not that there’s anything specifically wrong with being clean, but messy…ahhh, messy really says your priorities are hanging straight.
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