Last Chapters

Not that I have much familiarity with good housekeeping, something I expect I’ve recorded too much here, but what sometimes gets me through chores is being able to fill a vase with flowers at the end. I like the last touches. The neat-at-last stacks, the fluffed-for-once pillows, the afghan in its place are fun to arrange, like tending to details at the end of a draft. I like dawdling among a plot that I’ve set through a lot of heavy hauling. It’s fun to mess with line breaks, turn around a sentence here, replace a word there. Staring into space in search of an image can make me fidget, but polishing the edges is kind of delightful.



The past weeks have been devoted to such dustcloths, and I’m both happy and scared. The room is almost ready for guests I’ve longed to see. But of course then the nerves start wracking. What if no one wants to sit down? What if, after all, there are clumps of dog hair I missed? What if this room where I’ve been cozy isn’t a space anyone else cares about?

So I go back to tidying. A little bit necessary, a little bit obsessive. And with my face near the floor, I might notice the state of the cabinets. Yikes. One surface sends me to others, and I may have to open doors. I find my character tipping, when she can use a good push. Or raising her eyebrows when she needs to slam her fist. I’m a fan of the subtle, but I can get too sub. So bits of plot gets swept around.

And I remember sometimes we have to bring in lilies of the valley whether or not the bureau is dusted. In the quiet room I can’t wait to bust out of and also hate to leave.