Vitamin Victory

I survey my messy home, feeling glum. It's state mirrors my mood, and I imagine the two of us exchanging dark scowls. Where, oh where, to begin? Yesterday, five eggs boiled dry on the stove, exploding and sending their fragments far and wide. Today I take stock of the damage, combining it with the realities of our busy lives in a unsightly catalog of discontent.

Mismatched chairs? Check.

Dingy dining room table, scarred by a forgotten candle that burned all one the night? Check.

Dust-covered floor, including one empty ant trap and one lone Dorito, the magnet for dozens of the six-legged pests? Oh, yes, check.

The list goes on as I visualize a permanent vacation. This small space, so cozy for a family of five at one time, now bursts at the seams with boxes, books, bags, and belongings of all descriptions. The sink overflows. Breakfast remains crowd the counter. I turn a slow circle, my mind churning with the multiple duties this day holds, never mind the demands of this house!

How can I get to it all? I fight off a wave of confusion. Summer break has descended upon us with the surprise of an owl in the night, scattering our orderly lives and leaving me, at least, limp with fatigue. Although we're house-hunting, schedule-juggling, friend-hosting, and money-wrangling like fiends, our efforts have produced anything but peace.

"I just want to burn it all!" I complain to a friend on a walk near my home. "We have no garage. Nobody wants to pare down. But we can't agree on a solution!"

Emily, my friend, emits a small hum of sympathy. "I just do what I can when I feel like that," she volunteers. "I make one thing right, then move on."

Her words echo back to me now as I stand in my dingy home. The curtains are drawn. Why is that? I shuffle to the first window, pull the cloth back. Sunlight spills in, illuminating the civilization of crumbs that has colonized the table's rough top. I open the second set of curtains, then amble to the kitchen for a dish rag. A few moments of concentrated scrubbing, and the unsightly table stands bare, if not beautiful, in the newly-bright room.

Hmm. Satisfaction soothes my soul, and I think of a hot cup of tea. On goes the stove and out come an old, favorite mug. While the water heats, I use my dishrag to ply the speckled white windowsills, my broom to reclaim the dull floor. Fanning a tiny flame of fulfillment, I forge on. Dust the two desks, arrange the motley chairs in what appears to be an intentional pattern, and stand back.

Well... My gaze turns. It's not a fully clean house, but it's one room. As a final touch, I search out a scented candle and set it on a trivet, center stage. It's cheery flame somehow sanctifies the small space, gracing it with a dignity I hadn't foreseen. Those mismatched chairs loot artsy, after all. The table's now neat as a pin. And the floor? It reflects the first rays of the morning sun, its subdued beauty that adding to the room's charm.

I reach for my tea, mollified. Only five minutes of effort. Only a dishrag and one match. My muddled mind clears. My looming list shrinks in size. Yes, the rest of the house is a mess, but this spot of clean casts a spell. No longer resentful of the oncoming day, I accept it. If one wreck can be remedied, so can more! My tea goes down warm and strong, and I smile. This small victory will blossom into more. Full of purpose and contentment at last, set down my tea and stand up. It's time boil some eggs.