by Jay Jamison
Last July I received a schedule for a literary group I belong to for the 2021-2022 season. I noted that I was scheduled to host The Club —that’s the name of the group— at my house on October 25. I put the date down in my computer calendar, and mostly forgot about it. July turned to August, then September, and then in the middle of October I remembered I would be hosting The Club soon. The day of this recollection I was sitting in my living room reading, and noticed, as the sun went lower in the sky, that the rays coming through the windows were illuminating a problem. Have you ever noticed how the angled rays of sunlight coming through windows in the afternoon highlight every fleck of dust, every cobweb, every dust bunny? This view was not something new to me. I’d witnessed the same angled sunlight on furniture in my living room over time without alarm … but now things had changed. Guests were coming.
I have been in homes where everything is in its place, every surface is clutter-free and dust-free. Some houses are so clean and orderly, one is often afraid to sit on the furniture. I confess that my home does not have this defect. On the other hand, I’m not a slob. I have enough self-awareness to know when a place could use a little dusting and organization, if for no other reason than that some of my guests may be neat nicks. As host, gracious or otherwise, I didn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable. My epiphany, while I was sitting in my living room, indicated to me that a “little” cleaning was too modest a description of what needed to be done.
I realized that I hadn’t entertained people at my house for quite some time. Any entertaining had ceased with the first COVID-19 lockdown well over a year ago. During that period of isolation there was no worry about how things looked to others. My home looked “lived in.” However, virtually every surface had something on it that was out of place. On a small decorative wooden stand in my living room next to the front door stood a can of bug spray to deal with Japanese beetles that had been savaging my rose bushes outside. The beetles were long gone, but the can of insecticide remained. Books and magazines were everywhere.
A glance into my dining room revealed an even bigger disaster. The table where I was to put out refreshments in a few days was completely covered with papers, the remains of a cuckoo clock that had dropped off the wall last winter, file folders, an empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Red, pens, pencils, paper clips and crumpled papers (probably Source columns that were never submitted). The kitchen was also a catastrophe. I have a large breadboard counter that was completely covered with stuff, the exception being a small clear area to accommodate the swing of the microwave’s door.
I had to calculate where my guests would most likely be going —and thoroughly clean those rooms. I could close the door to my bedroom at the end of the hall, which was actually rather clean and organized. I could turn off the lights in my study so that a glance inside the darkened room would not reveal the clutter.
I only had four days to transform my home, but I made it. After four days of frantic work my home was finally presentable, but now I hardly recognize the place.
