the neat freak in me

i have always been extremely neat. as a child, i can remember going to the neighbor's houses to play and taking great delight in pulling everything out of their child's messy closet, and putting it all back in neatly.

my mother is an immaculate house keeper. meaning, she moves the furniture to vacuum. baseboards are part of her repertoire. she came by it honestly. her mother used to follow us grandkids around with a wet rag and an eagle eye. i am not clean, not like that. but my mother was not clutter free. and i am.

i don't judge others for being sloppy. not unless i live with them. i remember one time, visiting a favorite aunt, our dog went under her dresser and came out with a bar of soap in her mouth. this was hilarious and unimaginable to me. i loved it.

and i've had my share of not-so-neat roommates. one girl never unpacked the whole four or five months i lived with her. she didn't have a closet, so all her clothes stayed in huge moving boxes and she would just rummage around for something to wear.

another was an excellent cook, but would leave every dirty pot right where it cooked. for hours. overnight. until myself or the other roommate couldn't stand it anymore and would clean it. she boasted to me one time that growing up her mother never made her clean her room. i made a mental note of this. and now, 17 years later, a clean room is a requirement to live in this home.

if you are meticulously neat, you can't help it. it's just the way you were drawn. my husband's grandmother is the same way. she will tell me that she couldn't possibly go to bed if there was one dirty dish in her kitchen sink. i tell her that, well, i could. and frequently do. but, most everything else is in its place. a place for everything, and everything in its place.

one of my obsessions is homes that are beautifully done. i love them. i drink them in. i want to look at every single thing.

there is a woman, a friend of friends, who lives in my neighborhood. i had never met her but i had heard from several others that her home was amazing. to die for. this was pure torture for me, a thing of beauty so near, yet so far away.

somehow, i think our sons were on a baseball team together, i finally met her. and i made it my personal goal to find a way into her home. much like you do when you are in someone's home, and you say you need to use the restroom, so you can check that out, too. believe me, i know all the tricks.

well. she had a garage sale and told us - her new friends - that we could come by beforehand to check out the loot. because this woman's trash is everyone's treasure. this was jackpot for me. let me just tell you, she had me at the garage. it was painted green. the cabinets had fancy handles. the floor was spotless. i was like a burglar with a key and the passcode. i made it into the house.

it was all that. two staircases. the kitchen had a piano. not a detail overlooked. homey yet traditional. huge yet cozy. i picked out the room i would want to live in if she invited me to stay forever.

but, there were days - weeks even - that i would have also wanted to stay forever at my aunt's house, the one who loses bars of soap. why? because love lived there. and you could feel it.

when my husband and i were first married, we lived near rice university, and across the way from a very fancy neighborhood. we would go walking there at night, at twilight, when people's blinds were still open but they were beginning to close their homes up for night. not all of the homes were huge, and some of the smaller ones were way more charming. i'd see potted geraniums on a porch, or a cat in a window and i'd say, "look. love lives there." he'd laugh at me, but he knew what i meant.

and love appears in different forms. it's more of a feeling or a vibe that is transmitted. and for me, love is tidy. it is order.

so i won't judge you for being a slob. just don't judge me for following you around with a wet rag.