I am a generally tidy person. There, I have said it. I like and appreciate a tidy house. I do housework. I get a sense of achievement when I've dusted and hoovered and put away the clutter. I like a pile of fresh ironing. I work better and feel happier in a tidy environment.
However, this poem appeared on my Twitter feed this evening and I was rather tickled by it. What do you think?
"Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
To paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
Ponder the difference between want and need?
Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
Music to hear and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.
Dust if you must, but the world's out there,
With the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come round again.
Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go - and go you must -
You, yourself, will make more dust.
It is right, of course. Well, mostly. And given the choice between doing housework and sewing, growing or prosing, then the latter options would mostly win by a smidgeon.
However, in order to sew, grow and prose effectively I require a relatively tidy space. Tidy space, tidy mind and all that jazz. So will I stop dusting? Nope! I shall do the dusting in the time allotted to mountain climbing. I am happy to look at a mountain. But climb it? I don't think so.