View from the North 40:Even on a good day, it's all mayhem

“I just want my house clean enough so that if someone drops by unexpectedly, it doesn’t look like we’re six days into battling a poltergeist” — Author unknown.

I don’t normally quote internet memes, but when I do it’s because the author gets me, like she’s lived my life or feels my pain or has actually read my mind.

Somehow it’s winter already and the little pea- to dime-sized rocks are sticking to the dog’s feet and the soles of our shoes, so it looks like I’ve graveled the entry area in the house — again — y’know, to cut down on slipping and to help with drainage when the snow gets dragged in too.

Rocks on the floor replaced dirt and dry grass coming in on me, the dog and, especially, the cat who was trying hard to capture the last dry heat emanating from the earth by flopping to the ground to roll then bringing as much dust and dry grass from that earth into out house. He’d strut up the front steps like a chia pet gone bad and evade any hands attempting to swipe him clean as he darted through the door straight to any unoccupied furniture.

But, to be honest, the crap and chaos is not just the dirt, rocks and vegetation getting dragged in. It’s the 30 years of stuff, the perpetual dust, the seasonal insects (right now it’s spiders moving inside for warmth) and the latest projects, creating a cluttered mayhem in a 700 square foot house that should’ve been retired from service 35 years ago, and given a first class Viking funeral fire.

I don’t like cleaning house on a good day, or a bad one either. The whole time I’m cleaning, my brain is whining and my spirit is throwing a threat-level-red temper tantrum. So when I get company that is going to stay a while, it’s a nightmare.

I have to be a responsible adult.

I don’t take that lightly, a price must be paid, a sacrifice made to exorcise my inner childish demons.

A few summers ago my parents wanted to take their compact, new-to-them motorhome on a shakedown road trip. I tortured my inner whiner for a few hours every day for a week getting the house in parent-ready condition, but then they didn’t even stay at my property.

My parents are people people. They love meeting, hanging out with, helping and feeding people. Everybody hangs out at the Burke house. Total strangers arrive to a hearty hello and a bear hug. People are drawn to them.

Their house is always clean.

My strangely quiet and introverted life is a mystery to them — the world’s most boring mystery with a tattered book cover.

My not having a steady stream of visitors causes a knee-jerk reaction in them. They bring their own people — a posse, an entourage or groupies, even hangers-on, interlopers or freeloaders to fill the void.

This particular visit, they were accompanied by three other motorhome-couples who all needed pull-through parking and high-powered hookups to run their TVs, air-conditioners and internet, so the whole group of them stayed at the nearest RV park where my parents held court, charming a whole new batch of strangers.

Meanwhile back at my house, it struck me that I had spent and inordinate amount of time cleaning and no one was coming into my home to appreciate my effort. I had no payoff for my herculean cleaning effort. Even when the whole group of them showed up on the place we had to entertain in the shop, which was the only building with amenities that was big enough to hold this many people.

My inner childishness was having a new kind of temper tantrum. After everyone went back to the RV park the last night, I pulled out a project, cluttered it around my usual staging area.

That’s where it was scattered around when my dad showed up at my door early the next morning like the exorcism never happened and the poltergeists had won again.

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Vigilant tidiness is a skill I don’t have, but I can touch my tongue to the tip of my nose, so I’m not all bad at http://www.facebook.com/viewfromthenorth40 .