Order

In hot pursuit of the three-legged dog, who was yapping his head off near the birdhouse (filled with baby birds) in the backyard, I went flying out the small door leading to our garage.  As I walked through the doorway, I caught a whiff of eucalyptus, as it is hanging dried in a wreath on the door.  The scent of dried eucalyptus almost always stops me dead in my tracks, but I had to save the baby birdies from ol three legs, so I continued outside. But, when I came back to the kitchen, I stopped in front of the wreath and took a long drawn out sniff.  Ahhhh.  Order.

Order?

Growing up, I would occasionally go to my aunt’s house.  She is the oldest sister of my father.  She lived close enough that I could get there occasionally, but not so close that I spent every day there (that would be my grandparents…we’ll save that for another day).  My aunt, in my young opinion, had it made.  Her house was decorated.  Have you seen these houses?  They have people come in and match the material on your couch to your drapes to your pillows to your apron to your whatever.  It is all matchy.  When I was a kid, I was in awe of all this coordination.  I grew up in a very humble home, where nothing matched, not even our socks (and that wasn't cool then).  When I went to my aunt’s house, I just walked around with my hands behind my back, looking at each and every thing.  I looked at every knob.  I looked at every frame.  I looked at the angle at which she had placed the magazines on her coffee table.  I studied it.  It was like I was inside a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, which I used to look at – while there – but only the covers…because I didn't want to touch anything.

As soon as you entered her home, you were greeted by the smell of dried eucalyptus.  She had a swag of it hanging above her front door, on the inside.  You walked in, you smelled the dried branches.  It was the only place in my travels where that occurred.  You might say the smell of dried eucalyptus reminds you of a funeral home, but – for me – it is the smell of order.

Seeing all of this order told me that my aunt’s life was…well…orderly.  My life – as a child – was a bit unruly, at times, and I didn't like that.  I needed things a certain way.  I see this debilitating quality in a few of my own children now, and I slightly cater to it.  My mother did not cater to it; I don’t think parents thought about stuff like that back then.  There were hardly any parenting books – thank God.  My mother wasn't going to enter my bedroom and wonder if my wallpaper was too busy or if my toys needed categorized.  She was going to feed me; keep a roof over my head, and love me.  The rest was mine to figure out…in my forties. 

In any case, I liked my aunt’s order.  I liked her matching house.  I really didn't go there to visit my aunt, if we are being honest, and I am always being honest.  I went there to walk around and look at her stuff.  Yeah, she was nice enough, but I barely heard a word she said.  I was probably looking more at her lipstick than I was listening to her words. 

After I took it all in, I would then go sit down outside, in a lawn chair, and I would design my own home in my mind.  I didn't need paper; I didn't need anything at all.  I would project it onto the ground in front of me…every inch of my future perfect house.  I would then go home and use wooden blocks to build the walls, and I would stare at this wooden outline for hours, decorating each inch of it in my mind.  I hardly moved at all.  I sat still for hours, stared at blocks, and decorated with my eyeballs.

Well, Little Me, child in the lawn chair,

I've got good news and bad news
about your future home.

The bad news is you still don’t have a matchy house.  In fact, you have an eclectic home. 

I will explain that word eclectic:  it means you shop at garage sales with handfuls of quarters and buy bizarre objects; it also suggests that you dumpster dive, meaning you rescue cool things that other people throw away.  Yes.  You will frolic in big trash cans as an adult.  Sorry to be the one to tell you. 

Not only is your house not matchy, but it is inhabited by lunatics who throw slobbery apple cores in weird places.  Yes.  Rotting fruit.  You read that right.  You don’t even have matching bedding.  I know.  You have washed your blankets so many times due to frequent contamination that your blankets are thread barren and frayed and even holey, and I don’t mean blessed by the Priest.  Currently, you are sporting a Scooby Doo pillow case on the lone pillow of your King-sized bed.  No.  You don’t have matching Scooby Doo sheets.  Please don’t even get me started on sheets.  Sheets are for wearing and building things.  They can’t stay on beds.  It is against the rules of the apple eaters.

The good news is this: 

you have dried eucalyptus near the doors. 

Yes, dried eucalyptus…which must mean, you have order…some sort of order.  You probably cannot see it at first or twelfth glance, but there is order in your future home. 

It has a lot to do with a peace inside of you. 

You have eucalyptus hanging above the door to your soul.  This might not sound like much, but it is a BIG deal.  The order in your soul allows you to accept, to enjoy, to appreciate, and to love the mess in front of you.  You don't need things to be a certain way now.

And no one has to come in and match your underwear to your valance.

And mismatched socks become hip.  Thank God.