The house is in disarray. More so than usual. We had a water leak that led to walls torn down and floors ripped up. The furniture is stacked in the corner covered in dog hair and medical bills. I am at my desk and all I see is inbox.
There is family coming. They will be here in a couple of hours. There are sheets to wash, shelves to dust, and a bathroom turned inside out beneath the rapid misfires of two little boys.
Not long ago this would have bothered me. I would have tried to fix everything. It needed to be spotless. It needed to be perfect.
Now I am in no hurry.
The last time that family was due they never came, and everything was ready. There was nothing to do but wait.
There was nothing to do but cross clean floors to an uncluttered desk and answer the phone.
There was nothing to do but fall down upon fresh linens and know that you may very well die there. And parts of you do. For death is contagious and when a loved one goes there is little between your heart and the nearest exit, but for those around you and the grieving yet to dance with.
Then nothing became everything, or it may have been the opposite. And the house fell apart around us.
Today my father and my stepdad are flying here together. They are coming for a birthday, bound by grandsons and a lifetime lost to memory.
Now I care little for clutter or open walls, missing carpet, and a home undone. Life is not spotless, and perfect is in the moments that we are making.
There is everything to do, and I am in no hurry.