Why I Don't Clean:

Alright, that's an overstatement. But it's true that I am not a frenetic house-keeper. My mother calls her cleaning style "a lick and a promise." Most of my house is pretty presentable, most of the time. The kids' rooms are horrid, as is their bathroom much of the time. My bedroom? Dusty and cluttered. Here's my vanity, in need of attention. Actually, when I took this photo, the cleaning had already begun.

Just in case you didn't know what I meant by dusty:

I dusted every Saturday during my teen years: living room, dining room, den. I think I got dusted out.
I cleaned the perfume bottles that I rarely use.

In the drawers, I found items I've kept. There were many papers like this, from the kids when they were little:

I found a stack of Christmas photo-cards from friends near and far. This was quite a few years ago. One couple had no kids yet, but had 2 dogs. Another had 2 daughters graduating; now the younger one is married. One family has since lost their dear grandma. Another has since been ravaged by divorce. Another beset by illness.  Missionary friends had both daughters home then. Almost all have kids who've flown the home nest. These photos clutter the frig when I receive them. Then they litter drawers for a few years. But I'm glad I kept them -- it's been long enough now that lives have changed. We've all changed.

I have a stack of boxes for keepsakes and jewelry. This little box was given to me by my oldest brother's girlfriend. That was probably 30 years ago.

In it, I keep the rose pedals Adam has given me over the years. I think that little bag of bird seed is from our wedding reception.

The largest box was my great-grandmother's. The watch face was hers too, and the watch necklace. My mother gave me all these, and the lovely cameo in the bag -- I think that was her grandma's too.

Cleaning like this is not really cleaning.  It's remembering. Perhaps that's why I put it off -- because I know it will take hours. But it's a good thing to do, don't you think?

The vanity, by the way, was my mother's when she was a little girl. It's falling apart (again), but I love it.