I went to bed with a sore leg last night. Hours later, in a semi-dream state, I saw my quadricep had snapped off my knee like an old overstretched thick rubber band. My thigh was flapping back like the thick mane of a Farrah Fawcett curl. It was a neat and tidy dream injury with manageable pain and no blood. I knew I couldn’t walk and needed help. My friend Julie walked into my bedroom and made eye contact with me, at least at first. I saw her fighting to focus on me while she continually scanned my bedroom, pausing at each messy scene.

“Oh God," I thought as I saw her note the three weeks of now half-folded laundry that had transformed my normally gorgeous cream silk linen couch into a multicolored Michelin Man blob. She passed by the couch and looked down at a spillage of boxes, pens, and small metal objects. She made her way to my bedside and as she was about to make eye contact again, glanced at my nightstand and the two cups. My small pink Japanese teacup with a few drops of golden tequila was next to my large white porcelain coffee mug with a red and black samurai on it. Her eyebrows went up as she looked in the mug and examined the pasty white substance with tiny black flecks.

I called her eyes to mine by saying, “I had chocolate-chip ice cream last night. I was watching This is Us." As if all viewers were told to remember to drink hard liquor and eat spoonfuls of frozen cream as companion tasks.

This scene would not do. Dream revisionist that I am, I rewound my dream back to when my quad snapped and flapped. My shame clearly was more painful than my injury as I dragged my body off the bed, my quad waving to my mother, father, sisters, and kids who watched from their picture frames. I slithered down the hardwood stairs to my clean living room to wait for Julie.

I often have these little therapy dreams ending with the awareness I need to get a grip or at least put my laundry away.

My house is often a mess. I could say the same about my mind and body the last couple of years. Yet, I clean my house, sort through my clutter, and enjoy my home. Cleaning falls to the beginning and end of each day for me. The kitchen gets the most attention and my bedroom the most love.

Although inanimate, my home is a stalwart, stable support of highest value to me. It is as clean as I need it to be for today. It is mine to love and with unyielding regularity meets my basic needs:

Protection

Privacy

Presence

My Velveteen Home loves me as I love it. With 3 holes in the walls yet to be patched, back-splash tiles yet to be laid, a British police phone still hanging on the wall long after the landline was disconnected, my home works for me and waits for me.

I wrote the following about my home and my value of loving my home as is:

She passes over the threshold
the crisp cold breeze outside tries to get one last nip at her bare neck
but fades as the rose blooms into her cheeks
a party of of shoes waits for hers to join
she sheds her bags and burdens with a relieving sigh
privacy
she chooses
when and
where she will sleep
she chooses if
she will put on clothing for comfort
or be naked
free
her home is
her place to make mistakes and savor kindness, empathy
her place to cook
dream, invent, plan
her place to share
smiles, laughter
her place to love

I do have one cleaning tip. I draw upon my sister Kathy for this idea. I do this at least once a year as a way to deep clean a space and shift the energy.

Move your couch! You don’t need to throw anything out, but consider moving furniture to a different wall, a different space. Force the change by putting the couch somewhere else. Reconsider the location of wall hangings. By moving the couch to the other side of the room you may discover the mark along a wall that needs a good wipe down and all of a sudden, the floorboards will be easy to clean. The entire energy of the room will shift and possibly invigorate. If you live in the new space for a week and decide you like it the other way, the clean room will be easy to change back.

Read Cleaning House by Linda-Marie

Parlor