A House is not a Monument

I've been sometimes frustrated with the state of my house, which is always in flux -- never quite tidy enough, remodeling projects always underway, a pile of laundry to be sorted, baskets of yarn on tables, writing projects that seem to give birth to piles of manuscripts and clippings, gardens that need weeding, vegetables that need canning, beds that need making.  

I have a friend, several friends actually, whose houses always look the same.  Always ready for company, polished, arranged, composed.  Their houses are monuments.

Well, that's not me, my friends, and I've decided to make peace with it.  Revel in it, even.  I like a clean house, sure.  And I think my house usually is pretty clean.  And I loath clutter.  So I beat back an excess of stuff with all my will.  But, I've decided, a house is not a monument.  It's a living, changing environment.  An organism, almost.  A place where things happen, where life is lived.